m 



P.v^HIC^lHKi^Rj^Kj'l^^Hk.' 




roii 




^«««i'^ ^"^u^.— flm..f.i*' A 


#' -33.. 'J .i4». :iiai«»<t^ .>eB..j(^ ,i'ii 




Glass LX) \t^\ 



Book. 



\ ''^ ':>■ 



PRESENTED BY 



THE 

NINETEEN HUNDRED gf THREE 

CLASS BOOK 



THE EDITORS 

GEORGE FREDERICK BAMBACH, Chairman 
GEORGE HENRY BUTLER, Jr., Manager 

FREDERIC JOSEPH AGATE 

NATHANIEL WARING BARNES 

CHARLES LE ROY HENDRICKSON 
LAWRASON RIGGS, Jr. 

ROBERT LIVINGSTON SCHUYLER 

CHRISTOPHER BILLOPP WYATT 

MARCELLUS HARTLEY DODGE, ex-officio 



THE 

NINETEEN HUNDRED &" THREE 

CLASS BOOK 



A 
Record of the Senior Class 

of 

Columbia College 




Published by the Class in June 
Nineteen Hundred and Three 




THE GRAFTON PRESS 

70 FIFTH AVENUE 
NEW YORK 



-ife^ 



Gift 



in tht ®ttaj of i^jcw IfxrvK 

%uvX Pan 



a 



W'^Ca — -^r-^r" t €f *y' 




y^ -^ '^'^<:^ Y^^r^^''^<<^ 



TO 

George Edward Woodberry 



TO NINETEEN-THREE 



Twelve are the years Columbia gave to me ; 

Twelve are the classes of happy memory ; 

And yours the last of the twelve, and no more shall be. 

But O, to say farewell and fond adieu! 

Four years to me are dear, and dearer far to you ; 

And the years, that seemed so many, are found too few. 

I taught you the ways of life, as poets teach; 

Scott, Shelley, Tennyson, you heard me preach; 

Yet most through my own heart to your hearts I reach. 

I taught you Shakspere next, the infinite brain,— 
Romeo, Hamlet, Lear,— our life of pain ; 
And by my art I turned this woe to gain. 

I taught you Plato in his masterhood, 

Who, loving beauty, found thereby the good ; 

Yet in myself nearer to you I stood ; 

And more received, giving my brain and heart, 
From whose exhausted springs new fountains start, 
Because you made your lives of mine a part. 

Where leaped the shell, my heart rowed with the crew; 
My hand was on the tape, where Bishop flew; 
Where broke the blue flag, I was there with you. 

The years of football your bright records grace; 
Game called, you saw me always in my place ; 
I taught your Harold the famed Fennel Race; 

And glad I saw him down the dazed field skim 
In his first years ; and much I honor him. 
Borne shoulder-high, until my eyes grow dim. 

You wonder not who heard that April day, 

I praised, loud-voiced, the perfect Harvard way 

Of Marshall Newell, when I left the play. 



TO NINETEEN-THREE 



Nor less, because I mingled with you so, 

Shall you my intimate power, befriending, know. 

Lifelong, within your souls, where'er you go. 

O, why recall what was to me most dear. 
The Crown, where duly, year by shining year. 
The best Americans received our cheer? 

Yet more, far more, generous you gave to me, — 
Your banded hearts in perfect loyalty; 
Whence I your debtor must forever be. 

A thousand times the loud Columbia cheer. 
Linked with my name, has fallen upon my ear. 
Sweeter and sweeter with each passing year. 

Though yours the last with those of old combine; 
A thousand young Columbia hearts are mine. 
Though yours the last, crowning the happy line 

With love and honor, honor and love to one, 
Whose labor for Columbia hearts is done. 
Though not his love, a love not lightly won. 

I murmur not, when fate has struck the ball; 
The work our hands have raised can never fall; 
Yet in my heart I grieve to end it all. 

Not unto me be praise, the praise not mine ; 
Praise ye the poets dead, and power divine 
Whence they had strength; pray God, their strength be 
thine ! 

Break hands, and part ; but long this verse endures, 

And loyal love to all and each assures. 

With yours, and ever and ever yours, and yours. 

G. E. WOODBERRY. 



Autobiographies 



CLINTON GILBERT ABBOTT 

>^-pWAS Easter morn in eighty-one, 
A When Clint first saw the light. 

In the English town of Liverpool; 
His hist'ry now I'll write. 

At the famous school of Uppingham 
He was drilled in Greek and Latin, 

And languages and other things 
They tried to make him pat in. 

When he was sixteen years of age. 

He took his longest step, 
For he crossed the briny ocean, 

And went to Poly. Prep. 

Of classes and of colleges. 

Which was the best to be? 
Of course he chose Columbia 

And the Class of Nineteen-Three. 

The Nineteen-Three Columbian 

He thought he'd bind with leather. 

But after an hour or two of use. 
It wouldn't hold together. 

And yet in spite of such a "break," 

Would you not call it rash 
To vote him Football Manager, 

And trust him with the cash? 

But such was done, and he preferred 
This work to that of scholar, 

And so henceforth his mind he's made 
A business life to "foller." 



FREDERIC JOSEPH AGATE 



I WAS born at Yonkers, on February second, eighteen- 
eighty, and prepared for College at the Drisler School. 
I entered the Freshman Class at Columbia in eighteen- 
ninety-nine. 



THEODORE HENRY ALLEN 



HE arrived the fifth day of October, eighteen-eighty-one, 
in Red Bank, New Jersey. A storm carried him to 
New York when he was a year old, and he has been a for- 
eigner ever since. Having gone through public school, he 
decided to be a soldier, so went to Barnard School, in Har- 
lem. His next ambition was to be a lawyer: he prepared 
for Columbia and ultimately entered, through an oversight 
of the Entrance Committee. But meeting several students, 
he concluded that law was too difficult and strenuous. For 
a time, he knew not what to do, and consequently had lean- 
ings toward the ministry. A friend seeing him in doubt, 
suggested that he might easily take up the study of medi- 
cine. He misconstrued this for an "easy study," and is still 
laboring under the delusion. Needless to say that he is not 
yet at P. and S. 

He is a good student when the professors are careless, 
and an athlete as long as he pays his tailor's bills. In spite 
of his virtues, he is popular, but only with those of his Class 
who have paid their dues. I cannot, with modesty, say 
anything of his looks, except, "Allow me — my photograph !" 



WILLIAM FITCH ALLEN 



HE was born in Oswego, New York, on December twen- 
tieth, eighteen-eighty-one, where he lived until in 
eighteen-ninety-nine he became a member of the Class of 
Nineteen-Three at Columbia College. He was pretty lucky 
in being born in eighteen-eighty-one, because if he had been 
born a year earlier or a year later he would probably have 
missed the privilege of being a member of the above-men- 
tioned class. The first sentence tells about all the impor- 
tant events of his life before entering college, and the subse- 
quent events have been just about as important. This be- 
ing true they have been treated with sufficient consid- 
eration. 



MARTIN CHARLES ANSORGE 



WANTED — To exchange a college education for some- 
thing useful. 

"The subject was the victim of a conspiracy to increase 
the population. Both the victim and the conspiracy were 
hatched on New Year's Day, eighteen-eighty-two, in the 
town of Coming, New York, notorious as his birthplace. 
Having been born without teeth and with little or no hair 
on his head, it would appear by the accompanying photo 
(Pach's, regularly $20.00 a dozen — special rates to Colum- 
bia students, $3.00), that he hath purchased for himself a 
wig and a set of the false article. But be that as it may, 
it is not for the biographer to intrude and examine. At the 
early age of two, by means of an occasional trot around the 
crib, he passed many of his college examinations. He hath 
made much use of the athletic field and very little of the 
library, where he sometimes spent an idle hour, studying 
(the latest styles in millinery and complexion powders). 
He is one of seven brothers, all single (mothers of unmar- 
ried daughters call evenings, eifter seven). 

If the Dean sees fit to graduate him, he will study the 
law, and give his friends the opportunity to say, as they 
have said of m;any before, "There's another man gone 
wrong." 



DAVID ASCH 



MINE has been a most extraordinary and eventful ca- 
reer. I was born in Manhattan twenty years ago, and 
have lived there ever since. Between the ages of seven and 
sixteen I went to school, where I learned many things, and 
from sixteen to the present time I have frequented Colum- 
bia, where I have unlearned many things. My chief fear 
during this latter period has been that I might get brain- 
fever from overwork, but I have so far successfully guarded 
against that dread disease. 



GEORGE FREDERICK BAMBACH 

I WAS born October fourteenth, eighteen-eighty-one, in 
the old City of New York, present Borough of Manhat- 
tan. When four years of age I received my first instruc- 
tion in a kindergarten, and from that time to the present I 
have been anxiously striving to fit myself for life. After 
leaving kindergarten I went to Public School No. 69, from 
which I graduated in eighteen-ninety-five and entered the 
College of the City of New York. Here I remained a year, 
leaving it to prepare for Columbia at Trinity School, New 
York. After three pleasant years at Trinity, I entered Co- 
lumbia, where the past four years have been spent. I never 
took much interest in athletics except as a spectator, but 
have tried to do my part in that capacity whenever my out- 
side work would allow. My chief delight, while at college, 
has been to flit about before the footlights, and although I 
like the excitement of the stage, shall try to do my best 
work as a Church missionary in some foreign land. 



NATHANIEL WARING BARNES 



AS nearly as I can remember, I was born on July twenty- 
fifth, eighteen-eighty-four, at Newburgh, New York. 
The Good Book says that a city set on a hill cannot be hid, 
and thus it is with my birthplace. For, thanks to its colo- 
nial relics, its heroes and its lobsters, Newburgh is known 
o£ all men. However, the stories told by tourists that its 
hills are so precipitous that the inhabitants have to chain 
their houses down to keep them from sliding into the river, 
is exaggerated, and except in a few cases, absolutely false. 
After an uneventful childhood, characterized chiefly by a 
small appetite and an insatiable fondness for travel, I en- 
tered the Siglar School. There I remained for five years, 
on a diet of conjugations, theorems, and Yale-blue air, es- 
caping in time to enter Columbia with the Class of Nine- 
teen-Three. Early in my Freshman year I made the 'Var- 
sity Commuting Team, and have rolled up a record of one 
hundred and twenty-five thousand miles to my Alma 
Mater's credit. From the beginning I have striven to fol- 
low the example of Caesar each day, and have so far suc- 
ceeded that I can say with him, "I came, I saw, I went." 



ROBERT BRADFORD BARTHOLOMEW 



I WAS born at Hartford, Connecticut, and prepared at 
Drisler School, in New York City, entering Columbia 
in eighteen-ninety-nine. I played football at school and 
rowed a bit at college, but did not begin to study, as I have 
since realized, till my senior year, when I became an awful 
grind. 



JAMES BASSETT, JR. 



" How trying 'tis when young 
To learn the a, b, c's, 
Yet men work years 
And only get A. B's." 

I WILL relieve the mind o£ the reader from a tedious 
perusal of an enumeration of the toils of my life in se- 
curing the long-hoped-for A.B. I was graduated from 
Grammar School No. 89, then from the Horace Mann High 
School. During the four years spent at Columbia, I ob- 
tained General Honors in my Freshman, Sophomore and 
Junior years, and now hope to wear the "gown of sombre 
hue." 

" What though we flounder wearily, 
Through integrals and a' that? 
For A.B. we bear them cheerfully. 

We love them well for a' that, 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Old 'log' and 'trig' and a' that. 
E'en the unmathematical. 
They love them well for a' that." 



ALEXANDER OTTO BECHERT 



I WAS born o£ German parents, in Brooklyn, New York, 
on July fifth, eighteen-seventy-nine. When six years of 
age, I entered the St. Mark's German-English School, where 
I remained seven years. After spending two and one-half 
years at Grammar School No. 74, and four and one-half 
years at the Boys' High School, in Brooklyn (one-half year 
in the commercial course and four years in the academic 
course), I entered Columbia. Thus four-and-twenty years 
have passed and I've done naught for immortality, unless 
the key to its temple is that of Phi Beta Kappa. 



HENRY RUTGERS BEEKMAN 



I WAS bom in New York City, November eighteenth, 
eighteen-eighty-one. Cutler School, of New York City, 
prepared me for college, which I entered in ninety-nine. 
My college course has been marked by pleasant experiences 
only. 



HERBERT CORLIES BRINCKERHOFF 

I WAS bom April fourteenth, eighteen-eighty-two — ^it 
was Friday, but, praise be, it wasn't the day before. The 
place of my birth and early childhood was Mt. Vernon, New 
York, where the Primary, Grammar and High Schools all 
contributed their share toward my preparation for Colum- 
bia. In my early youth I had spasms which shook the 
whole family and dislodged from my infant cosmos the germ 
of achievement. My whole College Course, as a conse- 
quence of the aforesaid spasms, has been marked by a series 
of futile attempts. In athletics I tried for cane sprees, 
crews, and football teams to little purpose. In Freshman 
year my efforts for high marks were rewarded by one soli- 
tary A in elementary French (I studied French two years 
in Prep. School). At present I am waiting for one more 
spasm which will bring back to me my lost germ in time to 
achieve a degree in June and success in the law which I in- 
tend to follow, and let us hope, catch. 



BENJA MIN FRANKLIN BUTLER 

I COULD write an interesting history of my life were it 
not for the facts. 



GEORGE HENRY BUTLER 



ORATOR, editor, and journalist, born in the State of 
Maine, December twenty -nine, eighteen-eighty-one. 
His early education was received in the public schools of his 
native State, Riverview Academy in Poughkeepsie, and Co- 
lumbia Grammar School in this city, from which he was 
graduated in 1899. In the fall of the same year he entered 
Columbia College and began his career with a number of 
more or less auspicious conditions. He early joined the 
Christian Association and the Philolexian Society and was 
intimately connected with both organizations throughout 
his college course. He was a member of six debating 
teams representing Philolexian and was President of the 
Society. In his junior year he joined the editorial staff of 
"Spectator" and served in the various capacities of Associ- 
ate Editor, Managing Editor, and Business Manager, and 
in his senior year was the first Business Manager of "Daily 
Spectator." During the same year he was president of the 
Debating Union, Editor of the 1903 Students' Handbook, 
and Manager of the Senior Class Book. He took little 
interest in athletics, but in all other forms of undergraduate 
activity he was keenly interested. He was the promoter 
and first Vice-President of the Columbia Grammar School 
Club, and a member of the Chess Club, King's Crown, and 
the Boys' Club. 



LOUIS CASAMAJOR 



FIRST saw the light of day and made my presence felt 
in the world by a long, healthy howl on the twelfth day 
of August, eighteen-eighty-one, in the city of "Homes and 
Churches," Brooklyn. That I howled I am sure; howling 
was ever my strong point. From the age of two to fifteen 
I held the long-distance howling record of Brooklyn, and 
successfully defended it against all comers. I never said 
the bright things the average child is reported as saying. 
I never cried for the moon. In short, I don't remember do- 
ing anything but howling. In the fall of ninety-one, after 
preliminary training, I entered the Adelphi Academy. In 
the spring of ninety-eight I left the Adelphi, for the good of 
that institution, and in the fall of the same year entered the 
Woodbridge School, in New York. Here I studied for one 
year and entered Columbia in the fall of ninety-nine. A 
stranger in a strange land, I survived, however. In class 
fights I took very little interest after a heavy man had sat 
upon my head for ten consecutive minutes in one of them. 
Chemistry and zoology absorbed most of my interest. Pre- 
scribed studies were my bugbears. In the fall of nineteen- 
two I entered the College of Physicians and Surgeons, 
where I hope to finish my course in the near future. 



DAYTON COLIE 



I WAS born just too late for church and just in time 
for dinner on Sunday, February fourteenth, eighteen- 
eighty-one. The facts have no significance, but as this is a 
history it of necessity deals with the naked truth, which I 
blushingly set down. My young days were mostly taken 
up trying the various schools of my native "burgh," until I 
finally reached Lawrenceville, where I spent three years. 
Thence I went to Princeton, but led always by the phan- 
tom of economy (of time), I found myself the next year in 
Columbia, where, to all appearance, I am a fixture. 



WILLIAM PHILLIPS COMSTOCK 

I WAS born in New York City, and have always lived 
there. My school life consisted of about four years 
spent in the Horace Mann School and then two years at the 
Woodbridge School, in direct preparation for College. Col- 
lege life has brought me a great many pleasant experiences, 
both in my social acquaintance and interest in athletics. 
After spending three years in the College course, my inter- 
est in scientific subjects has led me to change my course to 
Mining Engineering, in which subject I hope to take a de- 
gree with the Class of Nineteen-Six. 



JOHN WHITING CROWELL 



SOME there are who have led quiet lives and whose ex- 
istences have been disturbed by no momentous events. 
I am one of those. 

I first saw the light of this dreary planet in New York 
City, February fifth, eighteen-eighty-two. They say that, 
as an infant, I had my distinguishing points, but this I have 
always questioned. 

At the mature age of eight years, I took up my abode in 
Flushing, where, with the exception of short incursions into 
the surrounding country, I have since remained. 

After being graduated from that excellent institution, 
the Flushing High School, my family said, "Columbia for 
his," and there I went, to the regret, least of all, of myself. 

There is no use in dilating on my College career. I have 
tried to satisfy the otherwise unrecognized cravings of a 
budding musical genius by incessant whistling, even at the 
risk of becoming blatant. In this I may truthfully say that 
1 have succeeded. 



ALBERT DAVIS 



IS birth antedated, by about sixteen hours, the one 
hundred and forty-ninth anniversary of the birthday 
of the Father of Our Country — for which reason he has 
always lived, so to speak, in the shadow of classic truthful- 
ness. At the mature age of six he decided to take a course 
in kindergarten methods, and later became deeply interest- 
ed in the "three Rs." 

He prepared for College at the Boys' High School in 
Brooklyn, but left before completing the course, in order to 
enter Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 

He was a member o£ the Rowing Club and of Kings 
Crown, from his Sophomore year. He contributed occa- 
sionally to the pages of Morningside. In his Junior year 
he was chosen Class Poet and Historian, and the following 
year was elected Class Poet for Commencement. Senior 
year, he became, by invitation, the only non-graduate mem- 
ber of the Graduate English Club. 

His literary remains are to be found in the Nineteen- 
Three Columbian, and in the Nineteen-Three Class Book. 

This history is in the past tense, because 

" The present has already flown, 
The future is one vast unknown." 



MARCELLUS HARTLEY DODGE 

I WAS born February twenty-eighth, eighteen-eighty-one, 
in New York City. After dividing my time for some 
years between being thrown from the back of one of a pair 
of Shetland ponies, or driving a pair of white goats tandem, 
I began to go to school. I entered College from Mr. Brown- 
ing's School. If you should ask me what has impressed 
me more than anything else during my sojourn here, I 
would say it is how much there is to know and how little 
of it I know myself. 



PENDLETON DUDLEY 



I WAS born at Troy, Missouri, September eighth, eight- 
een-seventy-six. Four years ago I entered Columbia as 
a special student, but concluded to graduate. This has 
brought about a tedious but interesting College course. It 
is my intention to remain in New York. 



HARRY HAMMAN DYRSEN 



I WAS born in New York City, July twentieth, eighteen- 
eighty-two, and liked the place so much that I have never 
left it. Really, one becomes quite attached to a town like 
New York. At the age of seven I was first sent to school 
to be educated. Behold my face yonder and see what a 
botch they have made of it. I don't mean the photog- 
rapher; I mean the teachers. I think I should have been 
sent to school when five. 

In September, eighteen-ninety-nine, I entered Columbia 
University, unconditioned of course (what a chance!). By 
the way, I have tried most every means of getting rid of 
conditions ; if anybody is in need of assistance, let him con- 
sult me (confidential). Money returned if unsatisfied. 



VICTOR DE LA MONTAGNE EARLE 

THE birth o£ a truly great individual is an event to be 
remembered forever and cherished by all humanity. 
On the twenty-fourth day of May, eighteen-eighty, I made 
my appearance on the stage of this world of joy and misery; 
and, since that time, each year without fail, that day has 
been a day apart from all others, a day celebrated with 
pomp and ceremony, firecrackers and cannon, rejoicing and 
jubilation, in every part of the civilized world. It has been 
most difficult for me to understand how people so early dis- 
covered the great significance of my birthday, but the dis- 
closure made to me by this remarkable intuition on their 
part has ever been a most active incentive to aid me in striv- 
ing to fulfil this indication of my future greatness. 

N. B. — It is a strange coincidence that Queen Victoria 
was also born on the twenty-fourth of May. 



ARTHUR FREDERICK EGNER 



I WAS born September twentieth, eighteen-eighty-two, in 
Newark, New Jersey. In eighteen-ninety-nine I was 
graduated from the Newark High School. So far the placid 
life of the easy conscience, broken only by examinations 
and rumors of them, has been my lot. On the whole I have 
lived a very satisfactory sort of life ; and by far the best part 
of it has been my four years at Columbia. In this short 
time have happened many never-to-be-forgotten events: 
some pleasant, some unpleasant when they happened, but 
now all enjoyable in retrospect. The greatest treasure 
gleaned from all four years, however, has been a deep- 
seated love and veneration for Columbia. 



HENRY HART ELIAS 



I BEGAN my most uneventful career on November ninth, 
eighteen-eighty-two, and was thunderstruck at the many 
changes that had taken place in New York. From that 
time until June of ninety-nine, private tutors and Columbia 
Grammar School got me in good trim for the great ordeal of 
entering College. After having passed the entrance ex- 
aminations and become a full-fledged Freshman, I took up 
Campus Course No. i by Professor Air (not hot), and must 
admit that during the last few years I have derived great 
benefit from it. Whenever I desired "recreation," I went 
into the various buildings and for the price of a few exami- 
nations saw some of the most original "artists" in the "pro- 
fession." I listened to them with the greatest pleasure, and 
think that in return they will present me with a Bachelor's 
Degree. 



COLIN GARFIELD FINK 



HE was born in New Jersey, on December thirty-first, 
eighteen-eighty-one. He received his early education 
in the private schools of New York. He entered Columbia 
College in eighteen-ninety-nine, where he spent most of his 
time smiling, doing "math" and "lab" work. 



JAY IRVING FORT 



I WAS born in Linden, New Jersey, June first, eighteen- 
eighty, and it was a lucky day for me. At the age of 
nine I started to school, and am still a student. For six 
short years I spent my time at the Newark Academy, doing 
all I could in various ways. In eighteen-ninety-nine I left 
there, or rather graduated, and in the fall of the same year 
I entered Columbia. Here I have managed to stay for four 
years, and at the end of this one I hope to graduate, the 
Faculty willing. For further particulars, kindly communi- 
cate with J. Irving Fort, thirty-three South Tenth Street, 
Newark, New Jersey. 



ROSCOE CROSBY GAIGE 



Captains o£ Unindustry 

MR. ROSCOE CROSBY GAIGE, like his name, is very 
impressive. The impression gained is one of exter- 
nals, due largely to the wealth of massive forehead from 
which the hair is so combed as to produce a Greeley-Web- 
ster effect. This sensation is further emphasized by a bland 
smile which creates the belief that Mr. Gaige is calmly con- 
templating us inferior mortals from superior heights, while 
in reality he is but wondering how he can avoid betraying 
himself. 

Mr. Gaige is not yet a man, but expects to become one 
on July 26, largely because twenty-one years ago that day 
the town clock in Casenovia, New York, suddenly ceased 
work in celebration of the advent of an infant poet, who, 
as the Fates willed, was to become more of a politician than 
a singer of rhymed verses. 

Our hero's first act was to toss around in his crib, and 
prying beneath the mattress, to secure a firm hold on the 
wires, which he has held ever since. This was, as history 
has shown, a marked indication of his future talents. 

Mr. Gaige has been a man of remarkable versatility ; he 
has been President of the notorious "Beaux Arts Club," 
lately suppressed by the police ; an official of the "Automo- 
bile Club," which has its annual run in the Columbian; 
Editor-in-Chief of Spectator, and has occasionally conde- 
scended to have some of his writings in the Times. It is, 
of course, well known that he had a poem in the Bookman 
the month its circulation fell off five thousand copies. Mr. 
Gaige, it might be noted as a point of information, went to 
several lectures in his Freshman year, and most of the pro- 
fessors in his elected courses he knows by sight. 

ROI C. MEGRUE. 



ENOS THROOP GEER 



I WAS born in Oyster Bay, Long Island, New York, on 
the sixth of February, eighteen-eighty-three. In eight- 
een-eighty-eight, the family took up their abode in New 
York City, where they have lived ever since. At the age of 
eight I went to Trinity School and studied there until 
eighteen-ninety-five, when I left and became a student at 
Drisler's, when sixteen years old, and in the fall of eighteen- 
ninety-nine entered Columbia University with the Class of 
Nineteen-Three. In the beginning of my Senior year I was 
obliged to discontinue my studies on account of illness and 
go abroad for the winter. I was thus prevented from grad- 
uating with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 



FRANK VALENTINE GOODMAN 

IN the language of the immortal poets, later set to verse, 
"it was a dark and stormy night" when he first hit this 
terrestrial globe. As that night of the twenty-fifth of No- 
vember, eighteen-eighty-one, has since gradually brightened 
into a day of average brightness, I suppose he should not 
kick. All this occurred in Lockport, New York, so I've 
been told. Much time was spent in elementary schools 
preparing his brain for the studies, and, incidentally, his 
body for the athletics of a College course. 

May the celestial stars be thanked that the College cho- 
sen was Columbia and the class that of Nineteen-Three. 
What little he got there from athletics and (I hate to do it) 
from studies, cannot help but make him a better represen- 
tative of that College and Class of which he is very proud. 
Moreover, may the stars keep up their fine team-work and 
enable him to start a young alphabet after his name. 



HERBERT JOSEPH HAAS 



EVERYONE, perhaps, remembers the Charleston earth- 
quake of eighteen-eighty-six. This was prophesied in 
Atlanta, Georgia, two years before, so some people say, by 
my arrival into this world. The prophesy came by way of 
continual yelling, which had kept up long after the Charles- 
ton earthquake became a matter of history. I attended 
public schools in my native town, and, as I remember, my 
earliest ambitions were to own a livery stable or drive a 
street car. This unhealthy state of mind was soon changed 
when I became a student under Prof. W. M. Slator, of the 
Boys' High School of Atlanta, who, I was informed, had a 
disagreeable habit of administering corporal punishment in 
the shape of shaking one until the position of the head was 
a very uncertain one. 

Not being good enough to become a minister, nor smart 
enough to become a successful man, nor desirous enough of 
losing sleep in later years to become a doctor, I decided to 
study law, after taking a course in Columbia College, bear- 
ing well in mind a dictum of an acute Southerner, "Many 
young men who are studying law are more fit to be street- 
car drivers." This, you see, brings me closer to my first 
ambition. 

Here I enjoyed my life at Columbia very much, and 
shall never forget her. As my "prophetic eye" shows the 
future horizon, I see two things plainly: New York, the 
largest city of the world, the great center of the United 
States, with Columbia, the largest and best-equipped of all 
universities, and Atlanta, the pride of the South, emulating 
New York not only in business methods but in the estab- 
lishment and support of educational enterprises. 



RICHARD COMPTON HARRISON 

liTT TE can't leave a blank," the editor said; 

V V "Just sit down and write us a 'blank' verse instead. 
Why tell of your parentage, then of your birth, 
And of any old thing which will rouse us to mirth." 

I purchased some paper, some ink, and a pen, 
Read fifty-six volumes of lives of great men; 
But search as I would nowhere could I see 
A single analogy pointing to me. 

In my twenty-one years, several months, and odd days, 

I have done but one action deserving of praise. 

I entered COLUMBIA, as you can see. 

So fixing the date as to be with NOUGHT-THREE. 



CHARLES LeROY HENDRICKSON 

WAS born on May twenty-ninth, eighteen-eighty-three, 
and have made strenuous efforts to graduate before be- 
coming a legal being. I attended a co-educational school 
when six years old, but upon reaching the discreet age of 
ten I became disgusted with the swish of skirts in th^ 
schoolroom and entered an institution of learning where 
masculine meditation was undisturbed. Upon leaving Poly. 
Prep. I entered this immortal Class of Nineteen-Three, with 
whose swift pace I have found it very difficult to keep up. 
My first two years at Columbia were, of course, spent 
under the protecting dome of the Library in the diligent 
pursuit of knowledge scholastic. Having completed that 
space of time which the greatest educational authorities 
now deem sufficient for the attainment of the degree for 
which I was striving, I endeavored in my remaining years 
to learn the ways of the life around me. This latter pursuit 
I have found to be far more instructive and profitable, and 
it is by these last two years that I hope to remember 
Columbia. 



HENRY K. HEYMAN 



I WAS bom in New York City, March second, eighteen- 
eighty-four, and was graduated from Grammar School 
No. 89, in eighteen-ninety-seven, then entered the College 
of the City of New York, where I remained until nineteen- 
one, when I became a member of the Junior Class of Colum- 
bia College. I have elected law as my intended occupation 
and have already begun its study during my Senior year. 



WILLIAM FORREST HILLS 



IN referring to one's ancestry, a man incurs the danger of 
being accused like the potato: the better part under 
ground ; greenest on top. At any rate, my ancestor, Joseph 
Hills, came to America in the ship "Susan and Ellen," in 
August, sixteen-thirty-eight. His wife was Rose Dunster, a 
sister of Henry Dunster, Harvard College's first president. 
My father's mother was the great-granddaughter of Major- 
General William Heath, who took command of West Point 
in seventeen-eighty at Washington's request. 

The present exhibit was discovered in San Antonio, 
Texas, on September fifth, eighteen-eighty. Be it said in 
our defence that we broke away from our early surround- 
ings and became a mild, peace-loving creature. Perhaps on 
that account, we took little interest in College sports during 
the Freshman year, but spent most of the time in grinding 
for General Honors. For the past three years we have been 
Clerk of the Gymnasium Department, where we have not 
only gained valuable experience and knowledge but also 
come to admire, and in a small way to take part in, the 
activity of the athlete. Two summers ago, our time was 
spent in arranging a series of home gymnastics, which is 
published in the Success Library. Our chief interest is in 
philosophy and the general subject of education, so that we 
hope to obtain a higher degree before leaving our Alma 
Mater. 

Our College preparation consisted of three years' train- 
ing at the Kimball Union Academy, at Meriden, New 
Hampshire, and two years at Boys' High School, in Brook- 
lyn, New York. 

We have held no student's office in the past, but have 
been elected Assistant Manager of the G3minastic Team for 
next year. 



ALFRED HOFFMAN 



I HAVE spent most of my life in Brookl]^, where I at- 
tended public school. From eighteen-ninety-four to 
ninety-seven I studied in Germany. On my return I spent 
two years at Morse and Rogers School and then entered 
College. 



RUSSELL PRATT HOYT, JR. 



THE hardest task that can be set anyone is to ask them 
to write a history of their life. I would rather receive 
a card asking me to call on the Dean than be forced to write 
all this nonsense. 

There seems to be a general opinion, among the mem- 
bers of the family that I was born on November eleventh, 
eighteen-seventy-eight ; a long time ago if you stop to think 
about it. I was not a precocious child, and did nothing of 
note until I was two years old. At that tender age I be- 
came aware that I possessed a voice of rare power and bril- 
liancy, and I determined to use it. This discovery pleased 
me so that I straightway emitted an "A-flat" of such beauty 
and volume that the neighboring houses rocked and all traf- 
fic in the streets was stopped. This was the deed of note to 
which I referred above. At six I was a wonder at baseball, 
and wrote a treatise on "Some Atmospheric Disturbances 
Caused by the In-Curve." This article is on reference at 
the Loan Desk. I prepared for College at Columbia Insti- 
tute, and this school has the honor of crowding me into Co- 
lumbia. While in College I have grown at least four years 
older. This fact can be accounted for by my frequent visits 
with the Dean and my unremitting toil as Manager of the 
Glee and Mandolin Clubs; but there has been a great deal 
of enjojnnent in both these harmless pursuits. 



STANLEY MYER ISAACS 



J^T^WAS the month of September, eighty-two — 
X Of men there still live thousands who 
Could remember the fateful day and minute. 
Had they only known what was happening in it — 
That I entered the world (so tradition says) 
Just eleven months and fifteen days. 
And some three hundred and ninety years. 
Since Columbus came here. As it appears. 
This strange coincidence was the cause 
Of my entering through COLUMBIA'S doors. 
The house of learning. But here I must pause. 
And leave to my Boswell the next to relate. 
Even if the world for years must wait. 
In order to learn what remains of my fate 
(Really because I have no more time. 
And cannot think of another rhyme). 



LEWIS ISELIN 



I WAS born in New York City, December seventeenth, 
cighteen-seventy-nine. I believe that I gave few indica- 
tions of future greatness except that my nurse thought me 
destined for the Church because of my solemn face. I re- 
ceived my early education at Miss Reynolds' School emd at 
Cutler's. In eighteen-ninety-five I went abroad with a 
tutor, and on my return continued my studies under private 
teachers. I entered College in ninety-nine. In College I 
have done a little rowing and some studying. 



ELY JACQUES KAHN 



IT was on the first of June, eighteen-eighty-four, that I 
made my first public appearance. The date was a rather 
strange one to select, but, as they told me afterwards, 'twas 
a clever ruse — ^you see, it just balanced birthday and Christ- 
mas presents. I was kept at school for a long while, here in 
New York, and in my pre-Freshman days had only decided 
on fourteen different avocations when I should have to face 
the world. Luckily I gave up hope of becoming a police- 
man, fireman, President of the United States, etc., before I 
entered College, and for four years have rambled through 
the groves of higher education, studying exactly those 
things that I won't need later. Next year I expect to enter 
the School of Architecture and put my air castles on a firm- 
er foundation, so that at least one of my fourteen aspira- 
tions won't be lost sight of. It is too early to speak of fu- 
tures, so I'll ring off and connect you with the Fates and 
their alluring though derisive voices. 



HOWARD ALLEN KEELER 



I STARTED my existence on January twenty-third, 
eighteen-eighty-three, in the City of New York, with a 
great hustle— the only memento I have kept of my infancy. 
At the end of my first decade I entered Columbia Grammar 
School and was made head of the class as the most conven- 
ient place for keeping an eye on me. After graduating with 
the "highest honors" (?), I entered the Class of Nineteen- 
Three at Columbia College. I had found "scholarly hon- 
ors" too easy of attainment, so I determined to give the 
other fellows a show. Resolving to do something for my 
Alma Mater, I looked over the various branches open to 
youthful energy. Football, crew, track, and baseball had so 
many supporters that I decided to take up chess as the most 
select and aesthetic occupation, I have had the pleasure of 
representing Columbia on all occasions for the last three 
years. As the track team seemed to be in need of good ma- 
terial, I also went out each year for the mile run. After I 
had trained some inferior runner so that he could beat me, I 
always considerately retired. I might also mention that I 
have been collector of dues for several societies. 



NICHOLAS AUGUST KOENIG 



I WAS bom on the twenty-seventh of June, eighteen- 
cighty-three, in the City of New York. My early educa- 
tion was obtained at Grammar School No. 35, and at Trinity 
School, both in New York City. In ninety-nine I entered 
Columbia, which action I have never regretted. Although 
I am fond of athletics, I have never engaged in any while 
at College, as I have an absolute horror of the training table. 
My motto is "Eat Early and Often"; for which reason I 
favor the Deutscher Verein. 



BARENT LEFFERTS 



I WAS born in New York City, on May fifth, eighteen- 
eighty-two, prepared at Cutler School, and arrived on 
the scene of action at Columbia in time to join the Class of 
Nineteen-Three. 



HERBERT SPENCER LOVEMAN 

ON the shore of the North River, in the great City of New 
York — for I had decided long beforehand that that was 
the only place in the world in which to make my entry into 
the world — I was born on the eighth of November, eighteen- 
eighty-two. To the happy circumstance that this very day 
marked the departure for Europe of Herbert Spencer, then 
on a visit to the United States, I owe my first and second 
name. As for the third and last, that had long been await- 
ing me. At the age of eight I first fell into the hands of the 
schoolmaster at the Military Academy in Summit, New Jer- 
sey. Two years later, putting off the soldier's uniform zind 
refusing numerous offers to enter West Point, I removed to 
Cleveland, Ohio, and thence to New York, where I finished 
my preparation for College in the public schools of the city. 
In the fall of eighteen-ninety-nine I came to Columbia and 
registered with the Class of Nineteen-Three, of which I 
have been fortunate enough to remain a member ever since. 
Regarding law and medicine more or less as popular fads, I 
have decided to take up study of Mechanical Engineering, 
and expect to return to the University next year to complete 
my course in the Schools of Applied Sciences. 



HAROLD CHAFFEE M'COLLOM 

IN spite of surroundings, my early life in Brooklyn was a 
quiet one, except for the noise which I myself made in the 
few years immediately following my birth in eighteen- 
eighty-two. I received my early education in Grammar 
School No. II, where I learned to par*. and side-step 

baby carriages. I was prepared for College at the Brooklyn 
Latin School; then, taking with me my two distinguishing 
traits, virtue, which may be attributed to the churches, and 
careful deliberation, due to the trolley cars of my native 
town, I entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine. The 
following four years were marked thus : 

Eighteen-ninety-nine to nineteen hundred : Learned my 
way round Harlem and the Library. 

Nineteen-hundred to nineteen-one: Slipped my knee- 
cap and developed a distinguished, or at least a distinguish- 
ing, walk. 

Nineteen-one to nineteen-two : Took up, in Economics, 
the study of money, which appears to be a rather interesting 
subject. 

Nineteen-two to nineteen-three : Joined the Glee Club : 
was fined five dollars for singing in public. 



JAMES EDWARD McDONALD 



I WAS bom in December, eighteen-eighty-one, at Con- 
sett, County Durham, England. 

Since then I have done nothing with remarkable suc- 
cess. I thought on account of crossing the Atlantic that I 
might become a famous oarsman, but I changed my mind 
after about two weeks* training. Now I am satisfied to 
cheer the crews from the non-observation train, and so in a 
way I have wandered along for three years, content to be 
at least a spectator in the great events which have hap- 
pened during my time. 



HERBERT MONTGOMERY McCLINTOCK 

HE was born July thirty-first, eighteen-eighty-one, in 
New York City, and after having passed through what 
Shakespere chose to call the first stage of man, he went, or 
rather was sent, to the Collegiate School, where he passed 
the next ten years of his uneventful life. And when he was 
old enough to think of College, he gazed around and spying 
Columbia, he said, "That for mine." 

He entered that ancient institution of learning in the 
fall of eighteen-ninety-nine, and if the Fates are propitious 
hopes to leave it with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 



ROI COOPER MEGRUE 



Captains of Industry 

EGRUE is rather a funny ass, but not such a bad 
sort after all, and it is for this latter reason that I have 
consented, at his earnest request, to become his Boswell; 
though, God knows, he is no Johnson. Some few months 
ago it would have been difficult to find a lad with greater 
blondness of facial or literary expression than Megrue, but 
now, alas, the milk of human kindness has turned to acid 
in his veins. Through no fault of his own. Fate cast him 
into the managership of the 'Varsity Show, a seat carefully 
mined with tacks, but with little else, by the managers of 
the past five years. We miss his merry smile now, for he 
is busy writing his life in five volumes, "The Gentle Art of 
Making Enemies, or How I Did It with the Philharmonic." 

He prepared for College at Nice and Monte Carlo, 
where he learned the science of taking chances. When he 
entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine he was so ad- 
vanced that it was not necessary for him to devote his time 
to sordid study like the rest of his classmates. Instead, in 
his leisure moments he amused himself by turning off with 
his facile pen leaders for the London Times, the Saratoga 
Sentinel, the New York Herald and several other promi- 
nent newspapers. 

So much attention was drawn to Megrue through his 
journalistic work that his efforts were awarded by his elec- 
tion in his Senior year to the Associate Board of Spectator, 
an exalted position that he has filled with distinction ever 
since. He also was Editor of Lit. 

But I must cease weaving these fragrant garlands for 
my old friend, for as Mr. Alan Dale said in reviewing him 
for the Journal, he might think that I'm in earnest, and 
I'm not. 

R. C. GAIGE. 



JAMES GARFIELD MOSES 



I WAS born in old Kentucky and bred amidst the igno- 
rant and degrading conditions obtaining in that State. 
It was only on my arrival in New York some four years 
since, and my entrance into Columbia College that I first 
became cognizant of the utter savagery of my native State. 
Then, for the first time, did I learn to know wherein con- 
sisted the true elements of progress. It was such a pleas- 
ant sensation to realize what hospitality, courage, liberal- 
ity, and intelligence meant. And these first impressions 
have not in any way been obliterated. All is so perfect and 
lovely here, in such striking contrast with those horrid and 
reprehensible qualities and characteristics of my old Ken- 
tucky home, that I remember my date of birth no longer as 
September twenty-seventh, eighteen-eighty-two, but as Oc- 
tober of eighteen-ninety-nine. Nevertheless, I regularly 
hie me to the land of blue-grass and horses, not to mention 
other far-famed products, just to catch a whiff of air un- 
contaminated by the decencies of New York civilization. 
This is hardly an account of a rather uneventful existence, 
but my literary executors will present to the world an ade- 
quate biography, which will be found on sale at all book- 
stores and news-stands. 



HERBERT ROE ODELL 



BORN in Newburgh, New York, on July fifteenth, eight- 
een-eighty. After years of study I entered Columbia 
College in October, eighteen-ninety-nine. My first notable 
act was to eat luncheon unmolested at the tavern while a 
sub-Freshman, unaccompanied by Guardian or upper Class- 
man, and my last was to take Latin B. in my Senior year. 



LOUIS S. ODELL 



" For me ! sae laigh I need na bow. 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough." 

NEAR Kelloggsville, a little hamlet resting peacefully 
among the rolling uplands of the lake region of Cen- 
tral New York, on December eighteenth, eighteen-seventy- 
four, was born the humble subject of this sketch. My boy- 
hood was divided between the "deestrict" school and the 
surrounding woods and fields, for which I am duly thank- 
ful. In the early part of my second decade my base of op- 
erations was transferred to the High School in the neigh- 
boring village of Moravia, which town then became my 
home. After graduation there, a few terms of teaching in 
rural schools knocked out of my visions most of the illu- 
sions. Two pleasant years in the social and professional 
atmosphere of the Oneonta State Normal School followed. 
Then came three strenuous years as Principal of the High 
School at Liberty, New York. Finally, the long-cherished 
ideal of a College course was reached and in eighteen- 
ninety-nine, after due considerations of my needs, especially 
in the matter of having my rough comers smoothed and 
the odors of hay and hemlock removed, I selected Columbia 
as my Alma Mater. Here my class responsibilities. Chris- 
tian Association work, riding upon street railways, singing 
in a choir, and innumerable other engagements, have, 
strange to say, allowed me considerable time for such inci- 
dentals as mathematics and botany. 



GERALD STUART O'LOUGHLIN 

HE was born in the city of Winnipeg, in the Province 
of Manitoba, Canada, on October sixteenth, eighteen- 
eighty-two. He died in — but I am anticipating. His life 
was one of possibilities. His birth, I think, may fairly be 
called the most important event of that life, since it made 
possible all the subsequent events. The fact of his being 
born in Winnipeg made it possible for him to come to New 
York at the age of twelve, that in turn made it possible for 
him to enter a public school from which the College of the 
City of New York was a possibility. He went to the Col- 
lege of the City of New York and two years made it pos- 
sible (nay, desirable, even imperative) for him to leave and 
enter Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine with the glorious 
Class of Nineteen-Three, which he did (I do not mean he 
did the Class, but entered with it). 

By this step he was enabled to go into all the various 
activities of College life, which he did not do for a very 
simple reason. You see he was naturally of a generous 
disposition, and therefore confined his attention to one line, 
leaving the positions he might have occupied in all the 
other lines open to the other students in the University. 
Unselfish, wasn't he? 

In course of time he became a Senior, which fact is re- 
sponsible for the infliction of this history on whomsoever 
may be unfortunate enough to read it. 



CHARLES WHYTLAW OSBORN 

WAS born at Bellport, Long Island, February sev- 
enth, eighteen-seventy-nine. He is the only child 
and the idol of his parents, who look up to him — or rather 
used to look up to him, for they have become wise and do 
not do it any more— as a youth of great possibilities. Im- 
agine the surprise of the devoted parents when, at the age 
of two, and upon hearing one of the paternal jokes, he 
turned to his father and said: "Father, the profundity of 
your jocularity so closely approximates the frivolity of your 
earnestness that it renders the arduous task of differentia- 
tion intricately difHcult." That settled it. It was decided 
then and there that when he grew up he should go to Co- 
lumbia University. 

The years passed rapidly and at last, oh joy of joys, time 
was ripe for "little Charlie" to take his entrance examina- 
tions. Finally the terrible struggle was over; and the 
above-named youth, at the tender age of twenty, entered 
upon his four years of triumph. When he first began to 
sit up and take notice, he became much impressed with the 
number of beautiful Barnard girls that were accustomed to 
infest the Library, where he used to sit for many hours a 
day and plug; he had never before seen so much or such 
exquisite beauty at one time in his life. But no ! he would 
not allow the sight of these fair nymphs to take him from 
his work, for he was a hard and diligent student, almost a 
grind. After his four years of hard and faithful work, he 
stopped long enough to look back and view the great num- 
ber of things he had accomplished by his faithfulness. He 
had learned to smoke a pipe, and cigarettes, and, yes, even 
cigars. He had also learned to mix a cocktail, and — but 
space is limited. So, to make things short, we will say, 
this youth can look back with pride and exclaim, with the 
flush of triumph on his face: "I have accomplished some- 
thing." 



THOMAS LOCKWOOD PERRY 



SO far as I know, I was born in Troy, New York, Sep- 
tember eighteenth, eighteen-eighty. I have no recol- 
lection of what I did before that event to "pass away the 
time." After some years, however, I happened in at the 
Columbia Grammar School and discovered that there was 
some difference between the light as I then saw it and the 
"light" I was to get. Howbeit, I was thought a fit subject 
on which to experiment with Greek and Latin meters. But 
the line being measured, I strolled into Columbia College 
to enjoy the all-too-short course of four years "while it 
could be taken." The Columbian describes me as "A gentle, 
harmless youth and of good conscience." Of that you must 
judge. What Fate has determined for me I do not know, 
nor have I determined what to do with Fate. 



HARRY TWYFORD PETERS 



I WAS born August first, eighteen-eighty-one, in Green- 
wich, Connecticut, and prepared for Columbia at Cutler 
and Browning's School, entering in eighteen-ninety-nine. 



EDGAR DUDENSING PITSKE 



HE was born in New York City, September thirtieth, 
eighteen-eighty-one, and was the son o£ a student and 
a scholar who graduatd first in his class at College. From 
his early school career young Edgar seemed destined to 
follow in his father's footsteps, although handicapped by 
repeated changes of schools — a year at Dr. Dowie's, Long 
Acre Square, New York; a year at Dr. Eckhard's, Heidel- 
berg, Germany; three years at Dr. Schmidt's, Irving Place, 
New York, and a year at the Thirteenth Street Public 
School. Edgar was noted for his diligence and persever- 
ance, always working his way to the first of the class. But 
in his fourteenth year, at Horace Mann School, a great 
change came over him. His father being dead and his 
mother indulging him, young Edgar found that loafing and 
making a fool of himself and of his teachers was easier than 
studying. In this state of mind Edgar put himself under 
the tutelage of a Mr. Senftner to prepare for College, but 
the end of the year saw only two-thirds of the examinations 
passed and Columbia refused the young loafer admittance. 
A year of play at Trinity School, however, resulted in en- 
tering without a condition. What he did at Columbia all 
know. How in his first two years he was a would-be ath- 
lete, how in his third year he again tried to become a stu- 
dent by passing off twenty-six hours, how in his fourth he 
has given up all hope of becoming anything, and consoling 
himself in "his little, nameless, unremembered acts." 



ARTHUR MALCOLM REIS 



THAT posterity in general, and my future biographer in 
particular, may not search the public and private arch- 
ives in vain for records of my infancy and early manhood, 
I have here set forth those events of my life which I deem 
worthy of public interest. 

The first resolution of my life, namely to be born, was 
taken on January the nineteenth, eighteen-eighty-three. 
Though as you may see I have attained to no great age, 
my years have spanned two centuries — a good omen in- 
deed. How I spent these two centuries would be difficult 
to relate, but be it known amongst ye all that in the year 
nineteen hundred I entered the Freshman class of Colum- 
bia College, and finding after three years that there was 
nothing more to be learned, I decided to take my degree 
with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 

On the threshold of College I dreamed my dreams: — 
alack, alack, dreams are but dreams, after all. Have I been 
disappointed? At least as I bid Alma Mater farewell, 1 
can say that I have grown wiser in dreaming. 



BERNARD HERMAN RIDDER 



BREVITY is the soul of wit — also the first requisite of a 
truthful account of my life. I was born March twen- 
tieth^ eighteen-eighty-three, on which day there was no 
other mistake of any importance. I haven't been in much 
in College except debt and trouble. 

These biographies are a beastly bore anyway. If you 
tell the truth you are labelled "conceited"; but it ill com- 
ports with the dignity of a Senior to hide what is quite ap- 
parent. Therefore the only solution lies in a middle course 
— ^while I have accomplished any number of unusually bril- 
liant things, false modesty would feign impel me to silence. 



LAWRASON RIGGS, JR. 



I WAS born in St. Louis, Missouri, on April thirtieth, 
eighteen-eighty-one, and started life a barefoot boy. I 
was rescued early and brought East, and graduated from 
St. Paul's School, Concord, in eighteen-ninety-eight. I 
pursued the language and other things in Switzerland in 
eighteen-ninety-eight-nine. I entered Columbia in eight- 
een-ninety-nine, where I have been chiefly a hearer and 
spectator (not the Spectator — from which institution I was 
banished with the reform administration). 



RUDOLPH CARL THEODORE SCHROEDER, JR. 

I WAS born in New York City, in eighteen-eighty-one, 
but have resided in Hoboken, New Jersey, for the past 
sixteen years. I attended the public schools and prepared 
for Columbia at the Hoboken High School. I entered Co- 
lumbia College in October, eighteen-ninety-nine, and shall 
study Law here at Columbia. 



ARNOLD O. SCHRAMM 



HE was born in New York City, in August, eighteen- 
eighty. Since that date he has changed residence 
eleven times — giving an average of one moving once in two 
years. This removing does not include temporary or sum- 
mer homes. He is so imbued with the moving spirit that 
in the spring he does not dare go near a railroad lest he 
should board a freight car and turn hobo. 

As a child he had his troubles, of course. A complete 
lack of respect for school teachers seems to have been at 
the bottom of them. 

After attending various institutions for the instruction 
of the young, he entered the Horace Mann School, where 
he remained for four years preparing for College. He en- 
tered Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 

His record in College is remarkable for its emptiness. 
He did nothing until his Junior year, by which time people 
had succeeded in convincing him that he ought "to do 
something for the University." So he put on a football 
suit and went forth. Since that time he has never been 
able to understand how a man with brains enough to play 
football has not sense enough to stay out. Our hero had 
neither. Not getting enough in one year, he appeared 
again in nineteen-two. He was on deck every day, occu- 
pying space and making demands on the attention of the 
coaches. But greatness was not his own. At the end of 
the season a committee with a sense of humor awarded 
him "Varsity" stripes and football insignia. He does not 
intend to wear them in a locality in which he is known. 



ROBERT SCHULMAN 



MY birthplace is some unpronounceable Russian little 
village. There I was born in eighteen-eighty, and 
from there my parents found it advisable to emigrate ten 
years later. It was not before my tenth year that I was in- 
itiated into the mysteries of letters and numbers. Now I 
am a medical student. 



ROBERT LIVINGSTON SCHUYLER 

SHALL I compare me to a summer's day, 
As with slouch hat down-pulled upon my pate, 
I slouch along the student's weary way, 

And look upon myself and cuss my fate? 
My joy, it is the violin to play ; 

Nothing but early rising do I hate. 
And ever since I left the baby's bottle 
I've read Euripides and Aristotle. 

A Democrat, I hate each corporation. 

Except the rather large one which I sport; 

To "smile," it is my favorite recreation ; 
And I imbibe my soda by the quart — 

A habit which would jar poor Carrie Nation; 
And I do lots of things I hadn't ought; 

But I am not among tobacco's chewers. 

Nor do I joy in liquors spirituous. 

Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Apollo with a double sovereign eye; 

And when within the swimming-tank I've been 
The angry waters overflowed on high; 

But I care nothing for a thing so mean 
As water, when I'm really feeling dry, 

For I — a trait traditional with Schuylers — 

Consume enormous quantities of — Huyler's. 



HARVEY AMBROSE SEIL 



I WAS born at Doylestown, Ohio, ^February fifth, eigh- 
teen-eighty-two. After this important occurrence, my 
life has been rather an uneventful one. I came East in 
company with a great blizzard, and in eighteen-ninety mi- 
grated to Perth Amboy, New Jersey. My boyhood days 
were spent in the usual manner. 

I prepared for College at the Perth Amboy High School 
and entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine. During my 
four years' stay I have been a staunch supporter of my 
State, and have often defended New Jersey against the 
gibes cast against her. I have been a steady commuter 
£ind am a close second to Barnes. 

I hope to graduate with my Class and return next year 
to take up the course in Chemistry. 



RALPH LOUIS SHAINWALD, JR. 

I WAS born on the fifth of March, eighteen-eighty-three, 
in San Francisco. Two years later the family moved to 
New York. 

To fill in the time until I should join the Class of Nine- 
teen-Three, I went to the Ethical Culture School, where 
beside the three Rs I was taught to hammer a nail and 
handle a lathe. This sort of work always interested me, 
and one fine day as I was tinkering in my workshop, I 
struck something new, which I ran off and patented — No. 
688,705 — if you are interested. 

In nineteen-hundred-and-one I joined the Baldwin-Zieg- 
ler Polar Expedition. The good ship "America" and her 
consort, the "Frithiof," left Tromsoe, Norway, on the sev- 
enteenth of July. After being wedged for two days in a 
Polar ice-jam, after running full speed against ice-floes to 
break a path for the ship, and after three weeks of doubt, 
we sighted Cape Flora, where Jackson rescued Nan- 
sen. We established our first headquarters in latitude 
80" 24' N., about six hundred miles from the Pole. Here 
we shot thirteen polar bears, and I managed to gather to- 
gether a few score of the Arctic plants for Columbia's mu- 
seum. In August I returned to Norway on the "Frithiof." 

I expect this summer to accompany an expedition to 
Alaska, to climb Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in 
North America — five thousand feet higher than Mt. St. 
Elias, which the Duke D'Abruzzi climbed in eighteen- 
ninety-six. 



HAROLD SHIELDS 



I WAS born at a tender age in Eastern Pennsylvania, in 
eighteen-eighty-one. I began to articulate almost im- 
mediately, uttering the word "wa-a-a" when but a few 
hours old. I made continuous use of this vocabulary for 
the next three years. During my childhood I consumed 
milk and agricultural products in large quantities, produc- 
ing in me a very gentle and docile disposition. After a 
long and uneventful boyhood, I entered Columbia with the 
intention of studying law, but soon decided that the afore- 
said docile disposition, and the habit of truthfulness, unfor- 
tunately developed during my Sophomore year, was better 
suited for the profession of engineering. I have never been 
in jail. 



JEROME BENJAMIN SHOENFELD 

IT was on January twenty-seventh, eighteen-eighty-four, 
that Mother Earth was graced with my presence. As a 
child I thought I was "it," as every child who doesn't know 
any better is bound to think; but I wasn't really "it," in a 
game of tag, until I had reached the age of six. My fond- 
ness for knowledge was already manifesting itself (I have 
learned better since attending Columbia). Knowledge isn't 
the only aim of life, and book knowledge isn't the only kind 
of knowledge (sometimes a crib or a grind next to you is 
better than a book). As soon as I arrived in the Catskills, 
— in the good old summer time (ages ago), I commenced 
my research work, by examining all the bureau drawers 
and closets, and when questioned said, "I'm looking for the 
mountains." As for school, I was an angel — in disguise — 
my true nature has since cropped out. My career at the 
College of the City of New York, or rather the College of 
the City of New York's career with me, had better rest in 
the same oblivion in which that institution rests in the 
minds of all great men. In nineteen hundred I entered 
Columbia as a Sophomore— a member of the illustrious 
Class of Nineteen-Three. As a Soph, I studied hard with 
poor results ; as a Junior, I thought I'd be big and smoke a 
pipe — disastrous results. Hence I'm a notabac. As a Se- 
nior, I loafed — and am awaiting results. 



WALTER SCOTT SPIEGELBERG 

WALTER SCOTT SPIEGELBERG is my name, 
'Most nineteen years I'm in the game; 
Ate butter-scotch and rhymed a lot, 
That's why my parents called me Scott. 
Far down in "woolly" Santa Fe, 
Was born on Decoration Day, 
And so from early childhood's hour 
They've called me but the family flower. 
In public schools I did prepare 
To later dine on higher fare. 
For "Primer-books" and "A-B-C" 
Soon gave place to Psychology. 
But I am patriotic, too. 
And love the glorious WHITE and BLUE, 
And with COLUMBIA hangs my fate 
With Nineteen-Three to graduate. 



HARRY WYLBUR STANLEY 



OVER twenty-two years ago, in a prosperous city of 
sunny Kansas, a State upon whose thousand hills now 
roam the cattle; upon whose plains the breezes kiss the 
seas of waving grain; and where the tall cow-stalks point 
to a sky more beautifully blue than the fabled blue of Italy, 
— in such a State I was fortunate enough to be born. Am- 
bitious to be a big man, I became a tall one at least. I spent 
three years in Baker University, Baldwin, Kansas, and in 
the Executive Department of the State, but was suddenly 
seized with an inordinate desire to learn to sing, came to 
this wicked and dangerous city to do so, and have assisted 
in making its hideous noises since October first, nineteen- 
two. I had my College grades transferred and entered 
upon my Senior year at Columbia with its advantages and 
disadvantages. As to the latter, Barnard — but why say 
more. I pause to wipe away a tear at the mention of the 
name. 

Law is to be my line of operations, but to a Columbia 
Nineteen-Three man wishing to get away from a noisy, 
wicked place like New York, I will play the real estate 
agent and will be glad to show him the way to a home in a 
famous, happy and prosperous State. (And we don't have 
any Crokers or Canfields there, either.) 



HARRISON ROSS STEEVES 



I WAS bom in New York City, April eighth, eighteen- 
eighty-one, passed an uneventful childhood, and decided 
to go to College as soon as I was old enough to know what 
it was. Ever since my Freshman year I have been trjring 
to reason out the justification for my decision; but in the 
main I am as much in doubt as ever. I am at least satisfied 
that I have learned some things and have even found out 
that I can derive profit from experience. As for my "Col- 
lege career," I must let that pass, for one can't write a his- 
tory of things that never happened. 



ARTHUR LEWIS STRASSER 



I WAS bom in an infinitesimal hamlet in Wisconsin, 
which acquires its name, Stockbridge, from an Indian 
tribe which occupied a reservation nearby. At the age of 
seven I removed, with my family, to a slightly larger vil- 
lage, Antigo, also of Indian derivation, where I worried my 
way through eleven years of grammar and high schools. 
I came to New York in eighteen-ninety-eight and prepared 
for Columbia at Sach's. I have had an averagely quiet 
four years at College, varying the monotony of my own life, 
and increasing that of others, by indulging from time to 
time in the gentle art of debating. I am at present study- 
ing law, and hope some day to do a stunt in the twinklej 
line along with New York's other future legal lights. 



GEORGE AUGUSTUS KEENE SUTTON 

I WAS born October fifth, eighteen-eighty. My great 
sustaining consolation throughout life has been the fact 
that Brooklyn and not Hoboken was my natal village. 
When a few months old my parents chartered a special 
train and took me to Newark, New Jersey. There having 
passed an uneventful boyhood, I was put through a course 
of sprouts at the Newark Academy and entered Columbia 
on the first trial. Then my domicile was shifted to "God's 
Own Country." My Freshman year was uneventful ex- 
cept where marked with flunks. Being of a literary bent, 
I joined "Morningside" in my Sophomore year, becoming 
finally Editor-in-Chief. Being quite a tank, I early made a 
raid on the Deutscher Verein, with such good results that 
during my Junior year I handled the cash, and as a Senior 
called its meetings to order with the proverbial stein. 

But happiness cannot be unalloyed, for being a Tam- 
manyite, I almost passed away when Low was chosen 
Mayor. A fly gets in the honey sometime. I have only to 
mention my future calling. I had for years been torn with 
doubts between being President of the United States or 
digging in the subway ; but finally coming to realize what a 
capital liar I am, I chose the law. Employ me if you should 
happen to want a divorce. 



JOHN AUGUST SWENSON 



WAS born in Sodra Wram, Sweden, August eleventh, 
eighteen-eighty. When seven years old, I was sent to 
the village school, from which I graduated in eighteen- 
ninety-three. In eighteen-ninety-five I entered a techno- 
logical institute intending to become a mechanical engi- 
neer, but left in ninety-seven and served as an apprentice in 
a machine-shop for some time. In eighteen-ninety-eight I 
left Sweden for the United States. My first resort was a 
farm in Medford, Massachusetts, but finding this too 
tedious, I shipped as fireman on a steamer and in this way 
added to my knowledge of the world by seeing more of it. 
In nineteen-hundred, I entered the Sophomore Class in 
Bethany College, Lindsborg, Kansas. Intending to be- 
come a minister, I was sent to Passaic, New Jersey, to as- 
sist in clerical work during the summer of nineteen-one. 
My fondness for the sciences made me, however, change 
my intended profession, and in October, nineteen-one, I en- 
tered Columbia College with the intention of becoming a 
teacher. This view I still hold, and after some post-gradu- 
ate work I intend to make teaching my life-work. January 
second, nineteen-three, I became Office Editor of Mathe- 
matics and Astronomy of the "New International Ency- 
clopedia." 



JOHN WARNER TAYLOR 



THERE are in my opinion few things less instructive 
than the ordinary Senior biography. Everyone, when 
called on for a record of his life, deems it necessary to put 
himself in a facetious record ; to conceal for modesty's sake 
what he has really done; and to compose something that 
shall read lightly and wittily if it does nothing else. There 
seems, too, to be a traditional formula that governs their 
structure. Quite properly they all follow a chronological 
sequence, beginning with the interesting fact of the birth 
of the writer and moving by fits and starts to the Senior 
year in College. But for my part, I shall not tell you when 
I was born. It might prove embarrassing thirty years 
hence, you know. Nor shall I bore you with the details of 
my height and weight and birth-marks, because I desire to 
leave as few traces as possible, if in the future I should be- 
come embroiled with the police courts. My Prep, school 
was the Utica Academy, through which I glided as 
through Columbia, without any extraordinary successes, 
but still unmarked by any dismal failures. Study has never 
worried me over much, or at any rate no more than iti 
should, and finally I think I voice the sentiment of my 
classmates when I say that I feel a genuine sorrow at leav- 
ing behind me these four pleasant, undergradute years at 
Columbia. 



BENJAMIN ABNER TINTNER 



i i TT APP Y he without a history." I might, therefore, 
Jti' consider myself almost happy. Suffice it to say, 
though, I began my career May seventh, eighteen-eighty- 
one, at Newark, New Jersey, and came to Columbia from 
New York University up at Chancier's Farm. I thought 
I would try football; my sole ambition was to tackle 
Weekes. I did so ; and as a result nursed a bruised muscle. 
I came out a second time, was promoted to the "Scrub," 
and because of my donning football togs, and occasionally 
running up and down South Field, was awarded "'Varsity" 
stripes and monogram; an incentive to all young insignia 
aspirants. 



WILLIAM FREDERIC THOMAN 



I WAS born in New York, March fifth, eighteen-eighty- 
four, and graduated from Public School No. 32, in 
eighteen-ninety-seven. I entered the College of the City 
of New York, where I remained until nineteen hundred, 
when I joined the Class of Nineteen-Three at Columbia, in 
the Sophomore year. I have never regretted the change. 



WILLIAM FYFE TURNBULL 



THE founder of this name was a mighty hunter who 
saved the life of King Robert Bruce of Scotland from 
the attack of a wild Scotch bull by wringing its neck. This 
was about thirteen-twenty. The King dubbed him "Turn 
bull" and gave him a castle upon the banks of the Tweed, 
from which in later years his descendants sallied forth to 
annoy the quiet folk of the Scotch border. Three expedi- 
tions were sent by the King of England against this pow- 
erful clan, so that it was finally broken up and scattered to 
the four winds about fifteen-twenty. 

Some years after this I was bom in a quiet town on the 
northern shores of Lake Ontario. At an early age I emi- 
grated to the Wild West, landing in a small railroad and 
mining town up in the mountains. Having occasion dur- 
ing the next ten years to cross the continent seven times 
each way, by the age of twelve I had traveled twenty-five 
thousand miles by rail, which is as much as even Barnes 
can boast of. 

I went to school at various times in Waterf ord, Canada ; 
Salida and Denver, Colorado; Newark and Orange, New 
Jersey. I prepared for College at Orange High School, 
and entered Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Three. 



HENRY CLARK TOWNSEND, JR. 

I WAS born in New York City on July first, eighteen- 
eighty-one. My career consists in twenty-one years of 
limited experience in various forms and branches of life. I 
have done this and been that and yet at the same time was 
never called proficient in anything. In fact, I am somewhat 
a jack-of-all-trades. I was created with an unusually large 
head, wearing at the age of three a seven and a quarter hat ; 
and this fact alone, not considering my other marks of per- 
sonal beauty, distinguished me from all other kids of the 
same age. My mother, somewhat alarmed at the abnormal 
size of my cranium, took me to a phrenologist, and there, 
after the learned gentleman had passed his hands several 
times over my top-piece, informed me that I had the mak- 
ing of a great man. This only goes to prove how mistaken 
some professional people can be. Perhaps, however, some- 
time in the future, that prophecy may be realized. Here 
is hoping that it may be so. So long. 



CAMILLE AUGUSTE TOUSSAINT 

" Vanite des vanites ; tous est vanite." 

BOUT a score and ten years ago, wearied of the strife, 
' turmoil and vanity of this great New York, my father 
migrated to the beautiful Palisades of New Jersey, where 
I was born on a charming June day in the year eighteen- 
eighty-one. At that time an epidemic of "musteeks" was 
raging. Thus the early days of my unassuming existence 
were passed in an almost constant squall. The early years 
of my life were uneventful, just as those of most children 
are. They say a genius occurs once in a generation. How- 
ever, a marked tendency to a thorough appreciation of the 
value of numbers was noticeable in my schoolday years — 
always preferring the greater division of the spoils of war 
in play. 

Finally, I entered on an uneventful career in the Jersey 
City High School — perhaps scorning the insufficient, nar- 
row honors of a small population. Ambition was my 
watchword — some day the world, not a school of a univer- 
sity, a mere infatuated part of that world, should realize 
my merit and ability. However, many honors, which I 
will not here enumerate, were forced upon me, unsought, 
by reason of my unexcelled abilities in Mathematics. I 
entered Columbia in eighteen-ninety-nine and have contin- 
ued therein until this my year of graduation. 



CHARLES DOSWELL TOMKIES 

THE affront his dignity suffered at the hands of his pub- 
lishers, who requested him to write the story of his life 
in the space of two hundred and fifty words, has been partly 
allayed by time. Moreover, the secret fear that it would 
never be recounted unless written here, "a decent respect 
for the opinions of mankind," and a high regard for the 
welfare of posterity (who would otherwise suffer an irre- 
parable loss), has moved the author to take up his pen at 
the eleventh hour, and herewith follows the wondrous tale. 

Far down in the Southland, the land of chivalry and ro- 
mance, where the sun shines the brightest and the moon 
beams with the softest glow, where the mocking-bird sings 
the sweetest and the redbird's plumage glows the most bril- 
liant, in a little hamlet in the northwestern part of the State 
named after the French King, on February twenty-first, 
eighteen-eighty-two, the subject of this sketch first saw 
light. 

Further towards the setting sun, centuries before, the 
Keachies roamed through the silent forest. Tradition says 
this was the parent stock whence all the other Southern 
Pawnees were sprung. But long ago the red man has gone 
to join his brethren in the Happy Hunting Ground, and of 
him naught now remains save his name made immortal by 
the quaint little village of Keachie, which preserves also 
tradition, for it has long been regarded by all the country 
round as the source of all things great and good. Here his 
early youth was spent. 

"What's his history?" 

"A blank, my Lord." 



RUDOLPH LUDWIG VON BERNUTH 

I WAS bom on December eighteenth, eighteen-eighty- 
three, and passed my infancy as a nuisance to every- 
body. At the age of six I was sent to the Collegiate School, 
where I stayed until I was graduated in nineteen hundred. 
During my scholastic career, I was the butt of the school, 
and acquired the world-famous name of "Pop." I then en- 
tered Columbia with the Class of Nineteen-Four. Al- 
though I have never indulged in riotous conduct, my Col- 
lege career has been a fast one in a sense of the word; for 
in one of the class fights I received a mighty shove and 
was precipitated into the Class of Nineteen-Three, where I 
now stand to get my "sheepskin." 



BENJAMIN RUDOLPH VON SHOLLY 

THERE are many rare abilities in the world that for- 
tune never brings to light. 



RALPH HENRY WADDELL 



I WAS born into this world of toil and trouble February 
fifth, eighteen-eighty-one. The State of Illinois claims 
the honor. My father is a minister, paradoxical as it may 
seem. When very young, like other clergymen's sons, I 
attended church regularly, sat in the "amen" corner and ate 
cookies to quiet my nerves. When twelve years old I 
moved to North Dakota, taking father and mother with me. 
Locating at Devil's Lake, near the Fort Totten Indian res- 
ervation, I led a life of constant warfare with ravenous 
beasts and savage Sioux. After the Turtle Mountain mas- 
sacre of ninety-eight, I returned to Ilinois and entered 
Knox College. From Knox I went to the University of 
Minnesota. While there I determined to come East and 
get my degree at Columbia. So here I am, ready to gradu- 
ate with the Class of Nineteen-Three. I expect to remain 
here, go into the claims business, and claim everything in 
sight. 



LEONARD MICHAEL WALLSTEIN 

LESS than thirty years ago, I was born in New York 
City. Ever since my first glimpse of earth I have been 
the possessor o£ a surname similar to that of one of the 
most illustrious soldiers in history, Albrecht Wencesles 
Wallenstein. I went through the usual stunts of prepara- 
tion for College and joined the Class of Nineteen-Three at 
Columbia. Like my noble namesake, I have striven, but, 
unlike him, I have striven for scholarly attainments and not 
the praise and allegiance of man. 



GEORGE EARLE WARREN 



I WAS born in Brooklyn, January ninth, eighteen-eighty- 
one, and in eighteen-ninety-£our made the best move in 
my life to New York City. I entered Columbia in ninety- 
nine, where I have spent most of my time studying litera- 
ture in Earl Hall. 



HAROLD HATHAWAY WEEKES 

I WAS bora in New York City, April second, eighteen- 
eighty, and prepared for Columbia at the Morristown 
School. While at school I took considerable interest in 
athletics, and it is needless to say that my enthusiasm never 
waned while at College. 



FREDERIC LYMAN WELLS 



I WAS born at Boston, on April twenty-second, eighteen- 
eighty-four, and migrated the next year to Providence, 
Rhode Island. From here I went to Germany, where I re- 
ceived my first schooling from the Spanish Rohr in the 
skilled hands of a teacher in a Munich public school. At 
the age of seven I returned to America, and a year later 
encamped at Sewanee, Tennessee, where I remained for 
eight years. By virtue of this residence I arrogate to my- 
self the title of Southerner. I received my preparatory ed- 
ucation at the Sewanee Grammar School, and after a year's 
study in the University of the South, entered Columbia 
when Nineteen-Three were "Sophs." 



GERARD BERNARD WERNER 



A SERIOUS biographical notice, I think, is more ap- 
propriate in a necrology than in a class-book; and a 
humorous sketch of one's life ought not to be attempted 
when the writer is not possessed of the humorous faculty. 
I will therefore merely record, for the benefit of my future 
biographer, that I was born in St. Louis, December seventh, 
eighteen-eighty-three ; that I migrated to New York in 
April, eighteen-ninety, and that I am now studying to be 
an electrical engineer. 



EDWIN WOLFF 



I WAS bom March fourth, eighteen-eighty-four, so as to 
be in time to celebrate Cleveland's first inauguration on 
my first birthday. After a while I went to Public School 
No. 68, and later on to Grammar School No. 93. In eight- 
een-ninety-five I went down to the Ethical Culture School, 
where I remained until eighteen-ninety-nine, when I en- 
tered the most glorious Class of Columbia ever known, the 
only thing I did of which I am proud. I took part in all 
class fights, examinations and other harmless pleasures, and 
accordingly hope to be graduated. 



ALBERT WORTMANN 



WHAT'S the use? To work like this is to go back on 
all my past principles. For four years I have 
learned the methods of the educated loafer, and actually 
placed myself in the prime condition to graduate as such. 
What a come down. But since I must, here goes. 

I led an uneventful life of measles, etc., up to the time of 
my entering College, when my physical sicknesses turned to 
those of the brain upon encountering Math. A. and History 
A. After a careful and thorough study, however, of the 
principles involved in the mode of "getting through" the 
exams, without work, I was finally able to devote my time 
to the beauties of Nature as seen from the football and base- 
ball fields (while consuming peanuts, etc.), and am now in 
a position to write a textbook on the subject. But my abil- 
ities are as short in that direction as they are in writing 
this history, and so until I get the opportunity of talking it 
off my mind, I end my past life. 



CHRISTOPHER BILLOPP WYATT 

CHRISTOPHER WYATT was born in New York City 
on March nineteenth, eighteen-eighty-two. For fur- 
ther particulars, see Class statistics at the end, where he 
figures, unfortunately, only too prominently. 



CLARENCE JOHNSON WYCKOFF 



ON the twenty-fifth of October, eighteen-eighty-one, I 
became an inhabitant of Brooklyn, the city of churches 
and baby carriages, and since then have ever lived in that 
place. After the usual experiences of a public school, I 
entered the Polytechnic Preparatory School, graduating in 
the spring of eighteen-ninety-nine. With the exception of 
an arduous struggle with mathematics at "Poly" and also 
at Columbia, my career thus far has proved uneventful. 
Law is to be my profession. 



CLASS ROLL 



Clinton Gilbert Abbott. 
*Almon Edgar Adams. 

Frederic Joseph Agate. 

Theodore Henry Allen. 

William Fitch Allen. 
*William A. Andrews. 

Martin Charles Ansorge. 

David Asch. 
*Daniel Read Bacon. 
*John James Bakerman. 

George Frederick Bambach. 
*Percival Martin Barker. 

Nathaniel Waring Barnes. 

Robert Bradford Bartholomew. 
*Murray Harold Bass. 
*James Basset, Jr. 
*John Grenville Bates. 

Alexander Otto Bechert. 

Henry Rutgers Beekman. 
*Dino Bigongiari. 
*Joseph S. Bikle. 
♦Marcus Isser Blank, M.D. 
*Frank Tefft Bogue. 
♦Algernon Keen Boyesen. 
♦Pierre S. Boisse. 
♦Yeoman Briggs. 

Herbert Corlies Brinckerho£F. 
♦Benjamin Franklin Butler. 

George Henry Butler, Jr. 

Louis Casamajor. 
♦Frederick Ambrose Clark. 
♦Ralston Roberts Coffin. 

Dayton Colie. 

William Phillips Comstock. 

John Whiting Crowell. 

Albert Davis. 
♦Alfred Dickinson. 

Marcellus Hartley Dodge. 
♦Pendleton Dudley. 

Harry Hammond Dyrsen. 



Victor de La Montagne Earle. 

Arthur Frederick Egner. 

Henry Hart Elias. 
♦Milton A. Falk. 
♦Pierce Philip Ferris. 

Colin Garfield Fink. 
♦Mortimer Levi Fisher. 

Jay Irving Fort. 
♦Walter Frank. 
♦Leonard Felix Fuld. 

Roscoe Crosby Gaige. 
♦Enos Throop Geer. 
♦Emanuel Goldenweiser. 

Frank Valentine Goodman. 
♦Hamilton Adair Gordon. 
♦Arnold Gross. 

Herbert J. Haas. 
♦Jacob Lionel Haas. 
♦Edmond Jordan Harrison. 

Richard Compton Harrison. 
♦W. Claude Heaton. 

Charles LeRoy Hendrickson. 
♦Henry K. Heyman. 

William Forrest Hills. 

Alfred Hoffman. 
♦Floyd D. Holmes. 
♦Everett House. 

Russell Pratt Hoyt, Jr. 

Stanley Myer Isaacs. 

Lewis Iselin. 

♦Walter Abraham Jacobs. 
♦Maurice Lamotte Jenks. 

Ely Jacques Kahn. 

Howard Allen Keeler. 
♦Charles William Kennedy. 
♦Edwin B. Koenig. 

Nicholas August Koenig. 
♦Charles Francis Lawson. 

Barent Lefferts. 
♦Charles Howard Loper. 



♦Not in the Class for four years. fDeceased. 



CLASS ROLL 



Herbert Spencer Loveman. 

Herbert David Mandelbaum. 

Harold Chaffee McCollom. 

James Edward McDonald. 
♦Frederick Seybel McLintock. 

Herbert M. McLintock. 

Roi Cooper Megrue. 
*David Ammen Menocal. 

J. Garfield Moses. 
♦Hopper Lenox Mott. 
*Samuel Sherill Mulford. 

Herbert Roe Odell. 

Louis S. Odell. 

Gerald Stuart O'Loughlin. 
*Louis Herbert Orr, Jr. 

Charles Whytlaw O shorn. 

Thomas Lockwood Perry. 

Harry Twyford Peters. 

Edgar Dudensing Pitske. 
♦Percival Valentine Raisbeck. 
♦Arthur Malcolm Reis. 

Bernard Hermen Ridder. 

Lawrason Riggs, Jr. 
♦William Rossbach. 
♦Charles Edward Scharps. 

Arnold O. Schramm. 

Rudolph C. T. Schroeder. 

Robert Schulman. 

Robert Livingston Schuyler. 
♦Frederic Cromwell Seaman. 

Henry Augustus Seil. 

Ralph Louis Shainwald, Jr. 

Harold Shields. 

Jerome Benjamin Shoenfeld. 



♦William Alonzo Simmons, Jr. 
♦Bert Veitch Smith. 
tCharles Henry Smithers. 
♦Nelson Lockwood Somers. 

Walter Scott Spiegelberg. 
♦Kenneth Miller Simpson. 
♦Harry Wylbur Stanley. 

Harrison Ross Steeves. 

Arthur Lewis Strasser. 

George Augustus Keen Sutton. 
♦John August Swenson. 

John Warner Taylor. 

Samuel Abraham Telzy. 
♦William Frederick Thoman. 
♦Lloyd Brant Thomas. 
♦Benjamin Abner Tintner. 
♦Charles Doswell Tomkies. 

Camille Auguste Toussaint. 

Henry Clark Townsend. 

William Fyfe Turnbull. 
♦Rudolph Ludwig Von Bernuth. 

Benjamin Rudolph Von Sholly. 
♦Morris Voss. 
♦Ralph Henry Waddell. 

Leonard Michael Wallstein. 

George Earl Warren. 

Harold Hathaway Weekes. 
♦Frederick Lyman Wells. 
♦Arthur Werner. 

Edwin Wolff. 

Albert Wortman. 

Christopher Billopp Wyatt. 

Clarence Johnson Wyckoff. 
♦Robert Hasbrouck Wyld. 



•Not in the Class'four years. 



fDeceased. 



CLASS STATISTICS 



8g Ballots. 

HOME.— New York City, 66; other parts of New York State, lo; 
New Jersey, 8; Georgia, i; Kentucky, i; Pennsylvania, i; Kan- 
sas, i; Sweden, i. 

PLACE OF BIRTH.— New York, 59; New Jersey, 7; Connecticut, 
2; Missouri, 2', Pennsylvania, 2; Canada, 2; England, 2; Russia, 
2; Georgia, i; Kentucky, i; Kansas, i; Wisconsin, i; Massachu- 
setts, I ; Maine, i ; Texas, i ; Ohio, i ; California, i ; New Mexico, 
i; Sweden, i. 

AVERAGE AGE AT GRADUATION.— Twenty-one years, two 
months. 

RELIGION. — Episcopalian, 26; Hebrew, 20; Presbyterian, 12; 
Lutheran, 7; Baptist, 5; Methodist, 3; Dutch Reformed, 3; Ro- 
man Catholic, 2; Agnostic, i; Congregationalist, i; Nothing, 9. 

POLITICS. — Republican, 56; Democrat, 14; Independent, 3; Mug- 
wump, 6; Socialist, i; Prohibitionist, i; Fusionist, i; Anarchist, 
i; nothing, 5; gentle art of knocking, i. 

PREPARATORY SCHOOLS.— Public High Schools, 28; College 
of the City of New York, g; Polytechnic Preparatory School, 4; 
Sachs, 4; Columbia Grammar, 4; Trinity, 3; Cutler, 3; Barnard, 
2; Drisler, 2; Browning School, 2; Morse & Rogers School, 2; 
Collegiate School, 2; Dwight School, 2; others, 20. 

INTENDED OCCUPATION.— Law, 28; business, 17; teaching, 9; 
civil engineer, 4; chemist, 4; doctor of medicine, 4; mining engi- 
neer, 3; architect, 2; millionaire, 2; journalist, i; politician, i; 
electrical engineer, i; philanthropist, i; forester, i; clergyman, 
i; theatrical manager, i; nothing, 8. 

FAVORITE STUDY.— Literature; history; economics. 

FAVORITE PROFESSOR.— Professor Woodberry; (Professors 
Van Amringe, Chandler and Lord.) 

MOST POPULAR MAN.— Weekes, O'Loughlin, Dodge. 

HANDSOMEST.— (Weekes, Earle), Bartholomew. 

LUCKIEST.— Dodge, Townsend, Gaige. 

WITTIEST.— Megrue. 

LAZIEST.— Gaige, McDonald, Dyrsen. 

NOISIEST.— Von Bemuth, Pitske. 

SLOUCHIEST.— Schuyler, Toussaint, Wells. 

GROUCHIEST.— TurnbuU, Wyatt, Schramm. 

BIGGEST FUSSER.— Keeler, T. H. Allen, Crowell. 

BEST DRESSED.— Peters, Iselin, Wyatt. 

LOUDEST DRESSED.— Wyatt, Fort, Beekman. 

BEST ATHLETE.— Weekes. 

BEST STUDENT.— Isaacs, Abbott, Barnes. 



CLASS STATISTICS 



BEST ALL-ROUND MAN.— Earle, O'Loughlin, Bartholomew. 

WORST GRIND.— Wallstein, Crowell. 

MOST CONCEITED.— Wyatt, Abbott, Agate. 

MOST MODEST.— Weekes, Bartholomew, Dodge. 

MOST SUBURBAN.— Barnes, Wells, Crowell. 

MOST INNOCENT.— Crowell, Bambach, Barnes. 



Class ot)E 

(Air, "America") 

Columbia on the hill, 

To thee, with right good-will, 

Our praise shall be, 
Thy sons who went before 
Have held, in greatest store. 
The honor that they bore, 

A gift from thee. 

Our thoughts will ever turn. 
Our hearts will ever yearn, 

From far or near, 
To thee, O College great. 
To thee, enthroned in state, 
A mighty potentate. 

Our College dear. 

Thy name shall always bind 
Each loyal heart and mind, 

Columbia ! 
Through all the country 'round 
Thy fame shall loud resound, 
Thou, with all glory crowned, 

Columbia ! 

ALBERT DAVIS. 



FAREWELL. 



O, mighty Mother, thou who sit'st enthroned 
Upon the height of that rock-circled hill, 
Which watches o'er the Hudson as it glides 
Between its sloping banks to join the sea, 
Thy sons are loth to leave thee. Sad are we, 
For we have loved thee : loving from that day — 
How dim and distant now that time has grown 
After the lapse of four swift-gliding years — 
When first we saw thee guarding all the plain 
In calm benignity. And thus we said, 
As climbing upward to thy throne we came, 
" How highly favored are that Mother's sons ! 
How foolish they that spurn her kindly love ! 
'Tis honor thus to stand beneath her flag, 
To bear it onward as it floats on high. 
A gracious parent glories in her child, 
And he in turn is by her glorified." 

So, looking, hoping, yearning, up we came 
And entered in, and lived those four short years; 
Four years which glided swift, as swallows wing 
Their circling flight athwart the sun-flecked air — 
In joy of life and light and sunny glow, 
Darting and soaring past us on their way — 
While we, thy sons, have all thy favor known, 
Have shaped our manhood toward the high ideal 
That shines, a beacon, flashing far above; 
We live in hope to reach it, and that hope 
Will hold us steadfast till the goal is won. 

'Twas here we studied 'neath the lofty dome 
Which rears itself to meet the vaulted blue, 
Outstretching o'er it with a vaster calm; 
'Twas here we lived our life, and ran our race, 
And won our laurels ; now we face the world. 



FAREWELL 

O, glorious Mother, we, thy sons, bemoan 
The fate that sends us outward far from thee. 
Not that we fear to struggle and to strive ; 
Nor that the turmoil of the busy world 
Will make us falter. Life is still before. 
The lordly river, bending at thy feet. 
Is proud to pay thee homage and respect 
As flashing ever toward the sea it flows, 
And we flow on, the Classes, going forth 
In slow procession as the years glide by. 
We soon must pass ; yet longing holds us back. 
And binds us closer till the parting come. 
We stand upon the margin where the stream 
Is merged and lost within the billowing sea. 

O, honored Mother, we, thy sons, must part. 
Must part from one another, and from thee. 
These first few days of Summer and of warmth 
Have coaxed the rosebud from its casing sheath. 
And flung the leaves far out upon the bough 
To dance and tremble in the floods of light. 
The world now bids us hasten, tuned in song 
With earth and sky to chant our hymn of praise. 
Go we not forth our College to uphold. 
To gain fresh laurels which shall deck her brow, 
To bring our many glories back to her. 
And add our rushlight to her glowing flame? 

ALBERT DAVIS. 



PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS 



Time was at Columbia, and that not so long ago, when 
Class Day, with its interesting customs, was not so im- 
portant as it is now. Further back still it did not exist at 
all, and the part the students took in their graduation was 
confined entirely to the Commencement exercises. These 
started at nine o'clock in the morning and lasted all day. 
Each graduating student was required to read his oration to 
the assembled gathering. The spirit of these august occa- 
sions was that of solemnity and serious propriety, too sober 
to make most effective the portion of the programme de- 
voted to the students. The result of this, was the establish- 
ment of Class Day by the Class of Eighteen-Sixty-Five, in 
order that the Class might have its own exercises where a 
spirit of mirth and cheerfulness most proper for such a gath- 
ering might prevail. Though at first only a few speeches 
of those graduating were given at Class Day, gradually, as 
year by year the practice was continued, Commencement 
finally lost the whole of the student side of its exercises, and 
Class Day was the gainer. The two characteristics of the 
custom which the Class of Nineteen-Three has asked you to 
aid in upholding to-day are, first, that this is a meeting es- 
sentially by the Class itself, and secondly, that long usage 
has decreed as most fitting for it an atmosphere of pleasure 
and mirthfulness. 

It may be interesting to you to hear a few of the details 
of a commencement, about eighteen-twenty, as given in the 
announcement of the exercises. 

The announcement states that the line of march of the 
procession shall be from the College green in the morning, 
precisely at nine o'clock. 

Among those that shall be in line are mentioned, the 
Janitor of the University, the President of the University, 
Members of the Corporation of the City, Judges of the Su- 
preme Court, Foreign Consuls resident in the city, the 
Clergy and Strangers of distinction. Among the subjects 



PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS 



of the orations delivered by the students we find the fol- 
lowing: "On the Character of Martin Luther"; "The 
World in the Twentieth Century" ; "An Oration on the In- 
fluence and Importance of Women in Society," followed by 
one on the theme "Absurdity." I am sure the two were 
not meant in any way to be connected. An oration "On the 
Progress and Vicissitudes of Letters" and one on "Flor- 
ence." The Commencement closed with a prayer by the 
President. 

The celebration of this day has for us who are members 
of the College proper a very real significance at a time when 
we are v\7itnessing the great expansion of the University in 
its various schools. It brings home to us in a true sense the 
fact that the College was the parent of the University. That 
around the College, sacred and precious for its traditions of 
the past, and standing forth as the champion of full hope for 
the future, Columbia has grown to her present state. That 
almost every custom by which she has been endeared to her 
sons has originated and been made possible of perpetuation 
through the College. 

It is here the men have more time to work for their Alma 
Mater. It is here those ties of friendship are bound most 
tightly together, which terminate only with life itself. A 
University without a College to place and keep at the helm 
the unwritten law of the past is deprived to a large extent 
of that power to affect the lives of her students to which she 
is entitled. How melancholy and uninteresting, how unin- 
spiring and unprofitable would your walk and mine here at 
Columbia have been if we had not had these customs to live 
up to as Freshmen, to perpetuate as Upper Classmen, and to 
receive our parting word of encouragement from, as we 
leave to go out into the world? It is not surprising, then, 
that we are glad to welcome you here this afternoon, and to 
be permitted in your presence to add for our Class her stone 
to that foundation of time which supports without doubt 
our most cherished College custom. 



PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS 



But what of the Class which is doing this this afternoon ! 
I will be frank with you. Some of you doubtless have 
heard of great men or great bodies of men, some of you 
doubtless have read of great men or great bodies of men, 
some of you doubtless have seen great men or great bodies 
of men, but I feel confident you will surely agree with me 
when I say that never before in the history of man has been 
gathered together so great a body of truly great men as sit 
before you this afternoon. You exclaim, "Tell me of their 
past, their future, of their hopes and their ideals," and I 
candidly answer that when they have passed through the 
tender clutches of the classmates who follow me, you will 
know more about them than of any other body of men in the 
world. The Historian will tell you a few things we are, — 
and perhaps a few things we are not; — the Poet will give 
you our poetic side ; the Prophet, as best he can, will lay out 
our future for us ; the Presentation Orator will make us feel 
at times very ill at ease, and that our presence before you is 
truly no delusion ; while the Valedictorian will impress upon 
you the soundness of the advice he gives us in his words of 
farewell. 

Now, as we proceed with our last Class-meeting as 
undergraduates, I want, in behalf of my classmates of 
Noughty Three, to extend to you the warmest welcome 
which it lies in our power to give. 

MARCELLUS HARTLEY DODGE. 



CLASS HISTORY 



Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen: 

As you all will undoubtedly have surmised from the 
ultra-intelligent faces of the Class of Nineteen-Three, here 
arrayed before you, the chronicle of their notable doings is 
necessarily a long one. Indeed, to enumerate even those 
actions which might be regarded as epoch-making in the 
history of Columbia College would occupy a much longer 
time than would please speakers to follow, who have been 
impatiently awaiting this afternoon as the opportunity, ^or 
excellence, of making their grand bow to the world. So I 
have been forced merely to jot down the more salient points 
of the Class's record, which I have this afternoon the un- 
speakable honor of presenting to you. 

By way of introduction, I would say (and I say it with 
all modesty) that the members of the Class of Nineteen- 
Three feel that they may lay just claim to being, in all that 
goes to make up a fine Class, superior to every Class that 
has yet o'erstepped the threshold of this illustrious Univer- 
sity — in other words, we feel that we are in a class by our- 
selves. This claim we make for two reasons : first, because 
we possess the best athletes, the best scholars, the best wri- 
ters, the best actors, the best business men, the best debat- 
ers, the best chess-players, the best artists, the best musi- 
cians, the best fussers and the best lookers that the College 
has yet produced; second, of course, because one of the 
members of our Class is Harold Weekes. This second rea- 
son every one naturally expected and its validity no one 
will dispute. Of the first I can only trust that ere the after- 
noon is over there will not be a vestige of skepticism or 
doubt in the minds of any of you. 

It was way back last century some time— in the Fall of 
ninety-nine, to be a little more specific — that, as a Class, we 
first made the acropolis of New York our stronghold. We 
first came to know each other during those inspiring lec- 
tures by Dr. Savage, when we learned that, by pa5mient of 



CLASS HISTORY 



seven dollars, each was entitled to the privilege of recording 
the full list of his diseases, together with the number of 
hours per day spent upon each. It was then that, under the 
kind guidance of nineteen-one, we began to hold meetings 
of our own, the first desire of all Freshmen. The saucy 
Sophs started to peep in upon us through the windows, but 
with dignity becoming our positions as full-fledged College 
men, we merely arose and drew down the shades. In fact, 
I would at this point impress upon you that one of the most 
marked characteristics of our Class throughout its course 
has been its dignity; whereas that of the Class which pre- 
ceded us was insidiousness. But more of this anon ; just at 
present I am transported in thought, though at the time it 
was in a furniture van, to a very undignified Sophomore 
smoker, to which we were "invited" during the first week 
of our College life. The invitations consisted of cowardly 
and insidious seizure of individual Freshmen, the Sophs 
having no heart to face us as a Class. At the smoker we 
bore ourselves with our usual dignity, obeying no unpleas- 
ant commands, and soon after sent a dignified challenge to 
our rival Class to engage in the annual cane-sprees. They 
could find no plausible excuse for withdrawing, and were 
therefore forced to comply. That we won goes without 
saying, the Sophomores only hastening their own downfall 
by resorting to their usual insidious tactics. Since he won 
the light-weight spree for us that time, victory has become 
such a commonplace thing for Mr. Earle that they tell me 
he now habitually signs himself "Victor." The sprees over, 
and our canes won, we at once adjourned to South Field to 
determine our right to smoke pipes by a tug of war. The 
exact result of the contest has remained an unknown quan- 
tity to this day, for just at the crucial moment, when every 
strand was strained, the rope suddenly broke in the middle, 
and we all sat down with less dignity than was our custom. 
The Sophomores then, in gluttonous fashion, attempted to 



CLASS HISTORY 



keep all to themselves the beer that had been provided for 
the refreshment of all. Suffice it to say that South Field 
was left after the battle a beautiful botch of beer, blood, and 
brownness. 

It was not long after that the Sophomores held their 
Class dinner, and again their insidious nature manifested it- 
self. For one of them represented himself over the tele- 
phone to our president as a friend of his, asking him to 
come out. But no sooner had he set foot upon the side- 
walk than he was grabbed by two or three figures that had 
been skulking behind the steps, hurried into a cab, and 
driven off a captive. At our own Class dinner we enjoyed 
true good cheer and drank many times to the health (?) of 
Nineteen-Three. If you could have seen us going home 
you would have determined that that dinner had done more 
to bind us together and to enable us to look to our class- 
mates for support than anything else hitherto. 

As for the remainder of the Freshman year, it was 
marked chiefly by a long string of athletic successes: 
Messrs. Weekes and Berrien had already made the 'varsity 
football team, while Mr. Bates sprang into prominence as 
one of the world's best golfers. Mr. Coffin as an oar, Mr. 
Earle as a gymnast, Mr. Goodman as a baseball player — all 
on 'varsity teams. And innumerable others made a name 
on the various Class teams, of which we had a goodly array. 

With Sophomore year came new responsibilities. A 
new Class had appeared on the scene of action to the educa- 
tion of whose members we felt it was incumbent upon us to 
attend with unceasing diligence. We reminded them gent- 
ly that they must not walk on the grass, sit on the library 
ledges, smoke pipes or carry canes; gave them lessons in 
rowing on the pavement in front of Barnard ; allowed them 
to help the Italians dig the subway, and in general curbed 
the exuberance of their childish spirits. 

Early in the year we, too, decided to have a smoker 



CLASS HISTORY 



(somehow or other we seemed to regard the idea in a dif- 
ferent light from that of a year previous). It was an amus- 
ing sight to watch our innocent little visitors from Nine- 
teen-four mount a chair in our midst and, after taking a pull 
at the bottle and giving a cheer for Nineteen-Three, de- 
scribe themselves, when bidden, thus: "I am Obo, the 
mountain goat, who may be seen leaping from crag to crag, 
scattering my horns, not singly, but one by one." Another 
youngster gave us this touching little rhyme : 

If you see a bumble bee, 
Coming o'er the lea, 
If you've got a grain of sense, 
You'll let that bumble be. 

I am inclined to believe that it is partly due to this piece of 
advice that B. Lefferts, the crew manager, has this year 
been given such a wide berth. Whenever he is seen making 
a B line for anyone, as his custom is, his destination is apt 
mysteriously to disappear before he gets there. 

But the great event of the year was the Sophomore 
Show. Not only was every member of the cast and chorus 
a member of the Class of Nineteen-Three, but the play itself 
was written by one of our classmates — a feat which no sub- 
sequent Class has proved equal to. To be sure, Leonidas 
intended it originally for Maud Adams and Faversham, but 
he gave it to his Class and now he is writing something else 
for Maud Adams. Who will soon forget Gerry O'Lough- 
lin's impersonation of retiring maidenhood, who Dayton 
Colie's coy ways, as she shook off her wig in the violence 
of extruding her tongue at her mother? And the Soph 
Show trip! Let me speedily draw a veil over the scene in 
that large room at the Lakewood Laurel House, which was 
assigned to no less than six of us for a comfortable night's 
rest! 

But the sad time finally came when we were compelled 



CLASS HISTORY 



to leave theatrical boards, so we consoled ourselves by gath- 
ering around festal boards and celebrating our second an- 
nual dinner. For some unaccountable reason the dinner 
was not held at the seime hotel as the previous year, in fact 
they say that its proprietor ran for his revolver when he 
heard that a delegation of Nineteen-Three men were again 
waiting on him. Whether or not, we thoroughly enjoyed 
that Sophomore dinner, while a few specially invited Fresh- 
men provided the vaudeville entertainment and sipped their 
lacteal beverage to the soul-inspiring tones of Holt's "Nine- 
teen-Three March." 

The absurd and old-fashioned "Sophomore Triumph," 
so called, we considered it below our dignity to indulge in, 
and every subsequent Class has followed our wise example. 
But that reminds me of another incident. Have any of you 
noticed that the back of the Library has a yellowish tinge? 
It came about this way: One sunny morning the Fresh- 
men decided to have their Class photograph taken. They 
were festooned about the windows and ledges at the back 
of the Library, blinking their innocent little blue eyes at the 
man with the camera, when Vic Earle and Gerry O'Lough- 
lin happened along. Now I might inform you, in the words 
of the lawyer whose eloquence exceeded his knowledge of 
the classics, that as David to Jonathan, as Damon to Pyth- 
ias, as Orestes to Pylades, and as Scylla to Charyhdis, so is 
Vic to Gerry. In the course of their inseparable perambu- 
lations they chanced to stroll between the camera and the 
Freshies ; and they strolled and strolled. It was a perfectly 
dignified proceeding ; surely all the campus is public. Now 
Vic has been voted one of the handsomest men in the Class, 
and you can see for yourselves what a fine-looking chap 
Gerry is when he gets up to deliver the valedictory ; and you 
may wonder that the Freshies were not delighted merely to 
include them in the picture. But somehow they seemed to 
think otherwise, especially when a few more Sophs, who 



CLASS HISTORY 



chanced to be passing, were unaccountably seized with a 
desire to stroll in the same spot. At last the temper of the 
Freshies became ruffled, as did their hair and their clothes 
in the fray which quickly ensued. Suddenly, whiz ! an egg 
flew, followed by another, and another, till the pavement 
and the backs of both the Library and the photographer's 
head were egg-bestrewn. (As to the quality of the eggs, 
that they were from the lunch-room is sufficient guarantee.) 
But all good things must have an end ; the superintendent's 
men in blue appeared, and — well, Vic and Gerry were not 
seen on the campus for several days thereafter. 

The shining light of the Junior Year was the "Colum- 
bian." I say shining light because I am inclined to believe 
that the books have probably had their greatest sphere of 
usefulness as fire kindling. The fact is, the editors, having 
evidently something of the goat in their own make-up, were 
so stuck on limp kid as a binding that they did the book 
true Roycroftie. But unfortunately the leaves were not 
stuck on the leather quite as much as the editors, and they 
have been coming out steadily ever since. Anyway, the 
book came out on time, and in its originality was typical of 
the Class, at least. The editors tell me, too, it was a tre- 
mendous financial success. I cannot recall the exact amount 
of the profits, but I know there was a six somewhere — either 
60, 600, or 6,000 — or was it just plain 6? 

The other two notable events of the Junior Year were 
the opening of the large, new lunch-room, by which Mr. 
Heubner was enabled to discharge all his waiters and make 
the men wait on themselves, and the Junior Ball. But since 
so many of the beautiful young ladies sitting here were un- 
doubtedly present at the Junior Ball, I will not delay to de- 
scribe that now. 

Our Senior Year has been a severe one. We have main- 
tained to the end our usual dignity, and have, I am sure, 
been a model to all the lower Classes. We have succeeded 



CLASS HISTORY 



in learning to perfection how to continually lessen the time 
spent on our lessons, an art which many cannot master in 
only four years. 

It will be noticed that Columbia has advanced in all its 
departments since the Class of Nineteen-Three came there. 
In numbers it has progressed to the front place ; in athletics, 
the formation and maintenance of a football team of the first 
rank is perhaps the most notable achievement ; socially, the 
expanded function of King's Crown, now the University so- 
ciety, should be cited, and religiously, the erection of Earl 
Hall and the regeneration of the Y. M. C. A. ; in a literary 
way we would emphasize the transition of "Spectator" to a 
daily surpassed by that of no other College — a work chiefly 
promoted by Nineteen-Three men. There is not a cap- 
taincy, not a managership but has been held by Nineteen- 
Three; indeed, for two successive years the football cap- 
taincy was ours. 

Oh, it is a wonderful Class, there is no denying it ! They 
say that each seventh wave is a big one, and certainly un- 
usually good Classes come at intervals. But in searching 
the annals I have been able to find nothing that even ap- 
proaches the general excellence of Nineteen-Three, and I 
have been compelled to regard it merely as a phenomenon 
of nature — a gift of Providence. 

CLINTON GILBERT ABBOTT. 



PRESENTATION ORATION 



I am like the future, for no man in the Class of Nineteen- 
Three knows what I hold in store for him. See how they 
shrink and tremble ! 'Tis in truth a modest, retiring bunch 
of College men, for many a man has pleaded with me not to 
give him a present this afternoon. Indeed, were I a Devery 
instead of a Seth Low I should be rich had I taken all the 
bribes offered me on the condition that I did not call So- 
and-so up here in the limelight. 

Ladies and gentlemen, to invent this opening paragraph 
cost me many a weary hour when I might have been attend- 
ing absorbing lectures in economics and philosophy. For, 
you see, some are born with reputations, others achieve 
them, but mine was thrust upon me by fifty-eight enemies 
of mine who had me elected the wittiest man in the Class. 
It reminds me of the proud young married woman who had 
been entertaining her friends with the tale of what a severe, 
almost fatal, cold her son had. When her heir appeared 
no sign of cold did he exhibit, either nasal, vocal, or pul- 
monary. Rather annoyed, the mother said peevishly: 
"Cough for the ladies, Johnny, cough for the ladies !" And 
that is about what the Class has done for me ; though I have 
never exhibited any physical, mental or spiritual marks of 
humor, my fellow-students have bid me "Be funny, Megrue, 
be funny !" But oh, victims in the audience, in apology for 
what is to come from my lips, I may say with the poet, 
"I never dare to be as funny as I can." If my janitorial 
friends will now please close the windows and barricade the 
doors, we will return to the subject, as the Freshman in 
German A said after he had vainly searched for the predi- 
cate six miles down at the end of the sentence. The first 
specimen I propose to exhibit — (now, gentle reader of Nine- 
teen-Three, I do not intend to allow you to know who my 
first victim is until I stand on the platform on June eighth, 
so we shall pass on) — I must confess in passing, because 
of a small — very small — conscience which weighs upon me, 



PRESENTATION ORATION 



that there was one bribe I did accept, and that from Mr. 
Roscoe C. Gaige. Mr. Gaige agreed that if I would say 
nothing about him he would be equally reticent in my re- 
gard. I know Mr. Gaige pretty well, and I know many 
things about him that would be interesting in the telling; 
but he knows many — too many — things about me, so that is 
why he sits there calmly smiling, realizing that I do not 
dare. (On Class Day I propose at this juncture to present 
George Bambach with a few presents ; he is, however, editor 
of the Class Book, and if he knew what I had in mind for 
him he might not be here — which would be unfortunate.) 

Some of us there are in College with whom Fortune has 
played her capricious pranks. Some of us have been lim- 
ited in our exchequer and have had financially to battle our 
way through College. True it is that we have lived on 
cakes and pie for luncheon, but that is due to the fact that 
we have been unable to afford a regular lunch — ^price, thirty 
cents, bread and butter charged extra. Such a man is Mar- 
cellus Hartley Dodge, who is here on the platform now. 
Mr. Dodge, we all appreciate how successfully and against 
what odds you have labored with the wolf ever scraping on 
the threshold of your humble cottage on the Harlem rocks 
amid the Harlem goats. You have battled against direst 
poverty, and your classmates, realizing this, and realizing, 
too, how much you have done for Columbia, have collected 
funds to set you firmly on your feet to travel down the path- 
way of life. Mr. Dodge, it affords me much pleasure to 
present you with this small sum of $11,000,000. 

The Class usually exhibits a playful humor which is 
naive if untruthful in its Class elections. For example, I 
have already demonstrated that I am not the wittiest man in 
the Class, and I have suspicions about some of the other 
choices. In one instance, however, the Class was absolute- 
ly correct. It chose Mr. Howard Allen Keeler as the big- 
gest fusser. (Will Mr. Keeler please come up, all the way 



PRESENTATION ORATION 



up ?) For four years Mr. Keeler has conducted a monopoly 
on the heights of Morningside ; it has been one in girls. 
Not a dance, not an athletic game, not a Columbia function 
of which Mr. Keeler has not been the shining light, always 
with a fair young maiden reposing restfully on his arm. 
He has had all kinds of girls, short and tall, slim and stout, 
blonde and brunette, and every time he has had a different 
one (I hope this is not an unpleasant awakening to any girl 
here to-day) ; and all this indicates a certain masterful skill, 
if not absolute loyalty. Sometimes when the moon has set 
high in the heavens on a starlit night — and carriages have 
been expensive — the girl has come from Barnard and 
Teachers' College a-foot; again, when Jupiter Pluvius 
turned on his nozzle and money has been more plenty, she 
has come from all parts of the city, once indeed from Brook- 
lyn — and greater love hath no man than this. Girls have 
been Mr. Keeler's vocation, his avocations have been many. 
He has played chess largely because of the strategic knowl- 
edge it gives, so valuable in affairs of the heart, and for 
many organizations he has been an indefatigable raiser of 
money, a valuable adjunct after marriage. Therefore, I can 
assure all Mr. Keeler's future wives — if there are any such 
in the audience — that for this reason they need have no fear 
of financial worries. But Mr. Keeler's four years are over 
and no longer as an alumnus can he decorate the gym 
dances with that same aplomb that he has manifested as an 
undergraduate. As a reminder of his College triumphs, I 
take pleasure in presenting him with this girl, who will be 
silent and who will ever yield with maiden modesty to Mr. 
Keeler's clarion cry, "To arms !" 

One man of keen perception voted for Mr. Nathaniel 
W. Barnes as the luckiest man in the Class, because for 
four years he has traveled daily from Newburgh to Colum- 
bia and return and is still alive. Coming from the wilds of 
up the State in rain and snow, sun and storm, Mr. Barnes 



PRESENTATION ORATION 



has shown a pluck that has rarely been surpassed on the 
football field. His classmates do not want him to go back 
to Newburgh to stagnate and so they have purchased this 
little house in which he may repose calmly in the city, un- 
trammelled by the thoughts of trains and ferry-boats. 

Incidentally, ladies and gentlemen, looking down on you 
now, I am wondering which of us has enjoyed this oration 
less, you or I? You don't know how hard it is to try to be 
funny. You always think of the clever things you might 
have said now about five o'clock this afternoon. This is 
apropos of the act that for five months I have been trying 
to decide which of the Class of Nineteen-Three is the Class 
goat — and I can't tell. I have thought of (a certain kind- 
ness makes me refrain from mentioning names in print 
now), but almost until this very moment I have been unable 
to say who should receive this coveted position. Realizing 
what I have done this afternoon has brought to me the con- 
sciousness that I indeed, as presentation orator, am the 
Class goat. My only regret is that I have no goat to give 
myself, so I have got around this difficulty by remembering 
that mirrors are everywhere. 

And so, my masters, I have been the jester, the court 
jester, as one of my predecessors in this office once said. 
The court jester, with his motley and his bells, who beneath 
his laugh sometimes has a heart little in keeping with his 
smile. I have laughed and I have joked, but in my heart 
and in the hearts of all of us there is the sad knowledge that 
in the book of College where for four years we have been 
discovering new wonders and new pleasures we have almost 
reached that page marked Finis. Then come a few blank 
leaves, empty indeed, until we pick up timidly that wonder- 
ful volume, the book of life. 

But again, my masters, the jester, though he sigh now 
and then and long for more serious things, must always, 
none the less, smirk and jingle his bells. So now I must 



PRESENTATION ORATION 



perforce announce, at the request of the management, that 
following this number on the program will come Mr. G. 
Stuart O'Loughlin, the famous bareback valedictorian, who 
will perform his dashing, death-dealing and dare-devil act 
of defying emphasis, unity and coherence. Without aid from 
the audience he will go up in the air and remain suspended 
there during his entire act. This will be the climax of the 
greatest Class Day on earth. Pink lemonade and peanuts 
will then be served by uniformed professors in the audience. 
Following the regular performance the spectators will kind- 
ly leave this spacious tent, so far successfully heated this 
afternoon by means of hot air, and adjourn to the yew tree, 
where a male chorus of ninety-one voices will give a short 
vocal selection. Mr. R. Bradford Bartholomew will then 
offer his notable performance of rhetorical handsprings and 
pathetic preludes. I will now circulate among the audi- 
ence selling tickets for the open-air specialties at the mod- 
est price of your sympathy in our failures to-day, your ap- 
preciation in what we have tried to do, and your God-speed 
for our future. 

ROI COOPER MEGRUE. 

APOLOGIA.— If it were not for Mr. Bambach this 
would not be here. He made life so much of a burden that 
to satisfy him and his Class Book I had to write something. 
I do not know whether I shall have the nerve to deliver this 
on Class Day. If I do, I may assure you, my Classmates, 
in a spirit of vindictiveness, that there will be other and 
worse victims than those who appear above. But whether 
you like my roasts or not, I wish you, in good-will and fel- 
lowship, long life, health and prosperity. But this job is 
rather up to the valedictorian — the bareback one — so au re- 
voir till our first reunion in Nineteen-Four. 



CLASS PROPHECY 



Ladies and Gentlemen: 

When the Class Platts and Crokers decided that I should 
be the prophet for Nineteen-Three, I was very much 
pleased over the turn that events had taken, but since my 
election a strange feeling has been growing in my bosom, 
reaching its climax in the present moment, that those who 
put me here were actuated not so much by the wish to find 
the best man for the place, nor even, as might be supposed, 
by the demands of political expediency as by personal en- 
mity toward myself. I venture to say that no man was ever 
placed in a position more fraught with burden and harrow- 
ing responsibility than the exalted one that I at present 
occupy. «i 

If you were to receive reliable information that on the 
ninth of June, just twenty years from to-day, at eight 
o'clock in the evening, you were to shuffle off this mortal 
coil, I think that you must confess that it would not add 
materially to the joyousness of this occasion or of any other 
in which you might participate. Now, that is just the pre- 
dicament in which I find myself as prophet. I am pos- 
sessed of all these pleasant little details about the futures of 
my Classmates, but as their friend and well-wisher, how in 
conscience can I ruthlessly destroy their chances for a 
happy life by telling them whether they are to graduate or 
not, the number of times that some of them will appear in 
divorce proceedings, others in petitions of bankruptcy, and 
all in the obituary columns of the morning newspapers. 
How, for instance, can I be mean enough to crush Mr. 
O'Loughlin's hopes for a place on the police force, by tell- 
ing him that just as sure as the sun shines in the Heavens 
he is to be a valet, to tell Mr. Dodge that he will not become 
a second Andrew Carnegie, but that he is to spend his for- 
tune and his life providing canned asparagus, bottled cock- 
tails and mackintoshes for the civilization of the South Sea 
Islanders, or to point out to Mr. Herbert Roe Odell that he 



CLASS PROPHECY 



is at a comparatively early age to be chosen to fill an office 
of vast power, that he is to hold the fate of thousands in his 
hands, that he is to be President of the United States — 
Cigar Stores Company. 

No, a thousand times no. Far be it from me to tip off 
Providence in that scandalous fashion. I must pass on 
through the years, shrouding the awful burden of knowl- 
edge in my tortured breast, a marked and melancholy man. 
Still, for the benefit of the proud parents who are present, I 
am able to tear aside the veil and disclose a few of the less 
important things in store for their unhappy progeny. For 
making this concession to parental pride I must lay my 
most humble apologies at the feet of those not interested in 
the aforementioned progeny by bonds of consanguinity. 

ROSCOE CROSBY GAIGE. 

(To be concluded on Class Day.) 



VALEDICTORY 



Fellow-Classmates, Ladies and Gentlemen : 

"Time rolls his ceaseless course" and with him we are 
drifting on toward the end of our College life. These Class- 
day exercises themselves are drawing to a close, and now it 
is a matter of but a short time, a few days, and our under- 
graduate life here at Columbia will be a thing of the past. 
Still a few days more and we ourselves shall be things of the 
past, and the "all-beholding sun" will see us no more, for 
we shall have been gathered to the Mother Earth whence 
we sprung. However, let us not think of that now. Rath- 
er, as we approach the termination of the four years which 
to us have seemed all too short, it seems fitting that some 
expression be given to the thoughts which come tumbling 
through our minds — thoughts which are darkened by the 
mournful gloom of partings and farewells. 

Friends, what I have to say differs from the wit and 
humor which has gone before, inasmuch as that to which 
you have just been listening has shown you something 
which goes to make up the light, the careless, the humorous 
side of the undergraduate, while this concerns the solemn 
side, the more serious significance of it all; it deals with 
what just now lies nearest all our hearts and which makes 
at times a feeling of sadness steal over us on these, the last 
few days of our life in Columbia ; which makes us feel that 
something is being broken, something is being severed, 
something being taken away, which we can never recover, 
and which in the future will remain in our souls only as a 
flood of memories, pleasant and unpleasant, sweet and bit- 
ter. For in addition to the joys in College there has, I 
think, come to most of us many a disappointment, many a 
heartache, many a realization of the infinitely sorrowful 
words of Whittier, "It might have been." Most of us have, 
I think, experienced that intense yearning after a place in 
some line of College activity in which we would dearly 
love to have excelled; some of us have, no doubt, longed 



VALEDICTORY 



even for a chance to try for such a coveted place — only to 
have our aims, ambitions and aspirations in that direction 
defeated by an adverse decree of Fate. And the disappoint- 
ment has seemed to us at the time almost unbearably keen. 
All these, however, it seems most comforting to think, 
have been but the necessary experiences, the steps toward 
the finding each his own proper course and sphere of influ- 
ence in life. Let us hope that Father Time, the only physi- 
cian who cures wounded and saddened hearts, will remove 
the sorrows and disappointments and leave in our memories 
only the recollection of the joys and happy associations of 
our life as undergraduates. Then how good it ^yill seem 
twenty or thirty years hence to meet some old College 
chum, by whose side in the old days we fought our fights, 
bore our trials, won our triumphs, with whom we shared 
our glories and humiliations — someone with whom we will 
talk over old times, feel the old love well up in our hearts 
and live the old life over again. For 

" Memory's leaflets close shall twine 
Around our hearts for aye, 
And waft us back o'er life's broad track 
To pleasures long gone by." 

It is to this College life of trials and triumphs, humilia- 
tions and glories, sorrows and joys, that we are to bid fare- 
well here to-day. Farewell! The very word itself has a 
sorrowful sound, a tinge of sadness ; and yet in one sense to 
us on this present occasion it ought to be welcome, for al- 
though we are leaving the scenes, associations, and some of 
the friends we hold so dear, are we not going forth to face 
the great world with all its new and greater battles and vic- 
tories, to new services, new triumphs, to the stern reality of 
doing something worth while? We stand before you to- 
day not as the ancient gladiators who were wont to say be- 



VALEDICTORY 

fore they entered the combat in the arena, "We, who are 
about to die, salute you," but with us now entering the com- 
bat in the great arena of life it is : "We, who are about to 
LIVE, salute you." 

We are, it is true, saying farewell to the life within these 
College walls, but not to the things, to the innumerable ben- 
efits which it has bestowed upon us. Of those no one can 
deprive us; those neither moth nor rust can corrupt and 
thieves cannot steal. What are they? To the outside ob- 
server they seem to be at most two things — mental and pos- 
sibly physical development. To us, however, who are liv- 
ing the life, the meaning is far deeper. Someone has aptly 
said of a College education that it consists of two parts — 
the part you get in the schoolroom from the professors, and 
the part you get outside from the boys. The first can only 
make you a scholar, but the second can make you a man. 

The first — the acquirement of knowledge — some think 
the whole end and aim. Surely that is a narrow view. It 
is true enough that knowledge and its acquisition are the 
standards on which we were admitted to this institution, on 
which we remain, on which we are either permitted or for- 
bidden to enter athletics, and it is presumably the attain- 
ment of a certain degree of learning which puts us in a posi- 
tion to say this farewell. "Knowledge," says Bacon, "is 
power." And after all, the desire for power, for superiority 
one over another, is perhaps the strongest single motive of 
mankind. Nevertheless, Knowledge is not all. Saul of 
Tarsus, you will remember, the Apostle Paul, studied at the 
feet of Gamaliel, the greatest teacher of his time, and be- 
came a very learned citizen of Rome ; but not until he had 
acquired something beyond the power of learning and Phil- 
osophy to give, a thing essentially of the emotions, a great 
faith, was the intense yearning of his soul satisfied. The 
great Goethe, in his "Faust," shows us the utter inadequacy 



VALEDICTORY 

of all the wisdom of mortals to satisfy the cravings of the 
human Soul. To come back to College, so it is here. 

Besides Knowledge in the well-rounded Collegian there 
is an indefinite, elusive, indescribable feeling, a loyalty, a 
thing of the emotions, which we are wont to designate by 
the term "College Spirit." This thing is best known by its 
fruits, which are all the seemingly crazy, reckless, fool- 
hardy, as well as many more sane things, a man does for 
his College. It is what makes him think angry reproofs, 
bruises, strains, even broken bones on the football gridiron, 
as nothing; which makes him toil for six months for the 
privilege of representing Columbia on the crew; which 
prompts him to do things of a similar nature on all the other 
teams for the glory of his Alma Mater. It is what makes 
men give up their time, the use of their talents and energy 
in the interests of their College. It is what has the power 
to bring a man after his graduation back to Columbia from 
New Mexico to coach a green football team. The men who 
have done all these things have created for themselves 
memories and associations which will remain with them 
after most of the studies, the book-learning, have long been 
forgotten. These men will come back in future years to 
games and races, and that spirit will make the old grads 
rise in their seats and shout themselves hoarse beside the 
greenest Freshman and be boys again. That spirit is one 
of the things you get not in the classroom, but outside from 
the boys. 

Besides this love of our College, there is a different love 
which is engendered in the hearts of most of us while we 
are here as undergraduates. I refer to the love of one 
friend for another, to the self-sacrificing devotion so often 
characteristic of the friendships formed in College. Noth- 
ing can be more beautiful than the sincere, unselfish love of 
two College chums. It is their solace in time of trouble and 
in success it is a spur to yet higher attainments — their 



VALEDICTORY 

never-failing source of sympathy and encouragement. And 
the influence of one of these friends upon the other can hard- 
ly be overestimated ; indeed, the effect of our friends on our 
characters is far deeper than most of us imagine. Consider, 
then, this fact: that here it is we make friendships which 
will last through our lives. 

Again, in addition to all these, there are influences too 
numerous, too far-reaching, to describe. Suffice it to say, 
however, that all of these forces, knowledge, learning. Col- 
lege spirit, friendships and the rest, acting on a man's inher- 
ent nature, co-operate in the making of his character. 

This, then, the formation of character, is in the broadest 
sense what a man obtains from his sojourn in the Univer- 
sity. This is the work our College does for us, the build- 
ing and broadening of our characters. Surely such a work 
is indeed a great one. For, after all is said and done, is not 
character the only thing which we can take with us from 
this fleeting, transitory life into the great unknown on the 
other side of the grave? When the great pilot, Death, meets 
us face to face to steer the storm-tossed bark of our exist- 
ence into our last port, whatever that port may be, or what- 
ever we may think lies beyond, wealth, learning, power, 
fame, influence and renown, all the trappings and ornaments 
of this life of shams and deceptions will be stripped from 
us, and character only will remain. 

The character, then, as moulded by the various diversi- 
fied influences of College life, is what we are taking away 
with us (and God grant it may be strong, firm and resolute 
to withstand the attacks and win the battles of our future.) 
But — and this it is which gives the note of sadness to the 
farewell — ^we are leaving a great deal. 

We are bidding good-bye to the scenes, the places, the 
associations, the activities and some of the people we have 
grown to love ; farewell to the profs we have learned to re- 
vere, esteem and respect and to whom we owe a debt of 



VALEDICTORY 



gratitude we can never hope to repay for the part they have 
played in the formation of our highest ideals, aims and aspi- 
rations ; farewell to our College activities, our athletics, our 
papers, our elections, our contests and celebrations; fare- 
well to the other three classes — ^may they look well to the 
interests we leave in their keeping — and finally the saddest 
of all are the farewells to one another. 

Fellow-Classmates, we are leaving much behind which 
is very dear to us, leaving the scenes where we have spent 
so many happy, so many bitter, moments. Our Class is to- 
gether in its entirety probably for the last time. After this, 
we separate and go in all directions, some of us never to 
meet again. But still always let there be one unifying 
force, one common interest, which will ever bind us togeth- 
er, even though we may be scattered far and wide over the 
world — something which will never die out of our hearts — 
the love we all bear for Columbia and for the friends made 
within the shadows of her walls — friendships and a love 
which will outlast the fervor of youth and sweeten the ma- 
turity of later life. And so, fellows, — 

" One last toast ere we part. 
Written on every heart 
This motto stay: 
Long may Columbia stand. 
Honored throughout the land, 
Our Alma Mater grsuid. 
Now and for aye." 

GERALD STUART O'LOUGHLIN. 



YEW TREE ORATION 



Classmates, for the last time we all meet, not as we have 
done over in College Hall, across from our Dean's den, with 
our squabbles and mutual jealousies, but about our Yew 
Tree, with friendship in our hearts and the pipe of peace at 
our lips. 

Soon we will be scattered by our life pursuits and, as so 
many other Classes are remembered, so will this one be, by 
its Yew Tree only, unless by our actions in after-life we 
individually and collectively make famous the name of our 
Class. And this is what I would urge upon you, one and 
all, to-day: that you take care that the Class of Nineteen- 
Three make it a precedent for Columbia, that each Class 
that graduates shall vie with all the others to see which can 
do the most for our University ; and by so doing each of us 
will advance himself individually. For as in the College 
world a College is known by her athletic prowess, so in the 
greater, broader world is she celebrated by the men she has 
produced and by their activities in life. 

Then, think of all the great benefits we have received 
from Columbia. First, the training of our minds, then the 
training of our bodies, and last, that greatest of all joys 
which runs deepest at College, the pleasures of friendship. 
How can we ever in our lives repay her for these things? 
From us, graduates of Colleges, much is expected, for we 
have received much, and woe and shame to us if we do not 
show ourselves worthy of those gifts. We must remember 
that the man who does something worth doing is the man 
who takes pride in his work for the work's sake, not for a 
reward, but because the work itself is the reward. 

The aim of Colleges is to fit the graduates to do a service 
to their country, and they do fit them to perform this serv- 
ice by training them in character ; and this means they must 
train them, not to possess only the softer and gentler vir- 
tues, but the virtues which are proper to a race of vigorous 



YEW TREE ORATION 



men : the courage and the honesty that war aggressively for 
the Right, and then to add to the Hard Common-Sense. 

Courage, Honesty and Common-Sense constitute Char- 
acter. Let us be men of character, and let us take care that 
we never do anything that will bring aught but honor to 
Columbia, so that by our deeds and not by our Yew Tree 
alone may our memory be kept alive in the hearts of all who 
love Columbia. 

ROBERT B. BARTHOLOMEW. 



SEP 29 1904 



